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July to December, 1892. 


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®ffn Illustrated J^ontAZy 



Vol. IV. 


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\A~MzfTMtMm: by S:z vn r \ rr. 
XHL — Thk Awxmi :* Szltee Blaze ,-. — — - c .? 

ANTOXELLO. THE GONZ> UXtL Free ^ Gosxi ct Fextkste Gattt _ _. . . 5:: 

/- *— ri^C *ry Pa~ H \iT T. J 

BLACK VIRGIN. THE _. _ _ _. _. „ ^>: 

- ^^MjrrrmtMmi by J. F rvvrif ?u. ) 

BOY SOLDIERS AND SAIL/1 RS By Fi^tes H- Low .._ _. ... r,^ 

{IJaujrmtMm by 7c en urj ih- 


\ li'ritum and JZou^rx^s "ry BenamTN Wtlxs. ■ 

CASE OF ROGER CAR31 YXE. THE. By H. Gejxnhvt-h S*tth r« 

j/lemjtrmtimm by J. F:n>£* -EE- ■ 

DAY WITH DR. OONAN DOYLE. A. Ft Haut H:v ... :>- 

{lUmstrmtmm kom Y^f.-^n^cs by Dr. Conan Dotlx and Messrs. Ei^irrr £ F*y 

DOLLS, QUEEN VICTORLVS [S* Qtdjt Victoeias J>izjls _ -5 

EAGLETS GORGE, AT By E. M- Htwttt _._ _ _ ... ;^ 

(IBmstrmtwms by F. BaXXTSTO- > 


{IBmtftmtyms from Drawings and Pbexograf&s.) 

GARDEN OF ROSES, A Br Haut How _. ... _ _ ^ 

(/IhutTMtMMs by HaJL Lcdlow.j 

GAS- By Ej>wajld Salmon ~ .. ._ ^5; 

{JUmstrmtisms by A J. Johnson ; and from C mcatgres by CErncsHAXT & Rr-a-LAXTsov.) 


{lUust r mtism s from Oid Woodcuts, j 

GREAT RUBY ROBBERY, THE : A Dtttcttye Stoey. By Geaxt Alixx r^ 

{nhatrutwm by SIDNEY PAGET.) 


XIIL— Me- Geo. AcGCsrrs Sala -s 

i/Ihtstrwti*m from Drawir^* by Mr. Sala and John G-l:?h : *nd free: Fbx.xrxr^ -v Me-s**^ 

Elliott & Fey, and Le Liecee, R-me-» 
XTVL— Sim Feedee;ck Leishtot, PR.A. :2 ^ 

{fUmstrmtiens from St--ii-es by SlE Fexdeejcx Lxi^HTON ; and from Pbocagrc^js br Messrs 

Elliott 4: Fey. j 
XV. — Me. Heney Ieving ^ 

\Hlu:troti*m by John GirLJCH ; ac-i fr^s; Ph>:ogn::&s by Miss Ellen Teexy and Messrs 

Elliott* Fey.) 
XVL — The Ret. J. E- C Welldon, Head Master of Harrow 4; . 

{Illustrations by John GrLiCH ; and from p--::*praf hs by Messrs Elliott «$t Fey/» ° 

XVIL— Miss Ellen Teeey * ^ 

{[UMstrutism by W. F. YorNG ; and firoci Photographs by Messrs. Eluott & F*y, aii 

Messrs. Wiinxiw k GROvt 1 
XVin.— De. W. H. Rcs^ell -^ 

{liluarmtism by CoL- Golyille and Captain Sw.\ebt ; and from Photographs l-r Messrs "" 
Eluott k Fey.) 

IRVING, HENRY. {S« « Iixosteatxd Inteeyiews^ ... Origin, Ifrom *** 



rionlr ' Original fronn 



(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 
XIII. — The Adventure of Silver Blaze * 

ANTONELLO, THE GONDOLIER- From the German of Freiherr Gaudy 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 


(Illustrations by J. Finnemore.) 


{Illustrations by John Gulich.) 


(Written and Illustrated hy Benjamin Wyles.) 

CASE OF ROGER CARBOYNE, THE. By H. Greenhough Smith 

(Illustrations by J. Finnemore.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs by Dr. Oonan Doyle and Messrs. Elliott & Fry.) 

DOLLS, QUEEN VICTORIA'S. (See Queen Victoria's Dolls) 

EAGLE'S GORGE, AT. By E. M. Hewitt ..., 

(Illustrations by F. BANNISTER.) 


(Illustrations from Drawings and Photographs.) 


(Illustrations by Hal Ludlow.) 

GAS. By Edward Salmon 

(Illustrations by A J. Johnson ; and from Caricatures by Cruikshank & Rowlandson.) 


(Illustrations from Old Woodcuts.) 

GREAT RUBY ROBBERY, THE: A Detective Story. By Grant Allen 

(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 

• 6} 5 

. 581 

• 145 

• 47i 

• 239 

. 182 

. 223 

• 352 
. 29 


. 481 


. 376 


XIII. — Mr. Geo. Augustus Sala 58 

(Illustrations from Drawings by Mr. Sala and John Gulich ; and from Photographs by Messrs. 

Elliott & Fry, and Le Lieu re, Rome.) 
XIV. — Sir Frederick Leighton, P. R. A 126 

(Illustrations from Studies by Sir Frederick Leighton ; and from Photographs by Messrs. 

Elliott & Fry.) 
XV. — Mr. Henry Irving 280 

(Illustrations by John Gulich ; and from Photographs by Miss Ellen Terry and Messrs. 

Elliott & Fry.) 
XVI.— The Rev. J. E. C. Welldon, Head Master of Harrow 415 

(Illustrations by John Gulich ; and from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry.) 
XVII.— Miss Ellen Terry 489 

(Illustrations by W. F. Young ; and from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry, and 

Messrs. Window & Grove.) 
XVIII.— Dr. W. H. Russell 566 

(Illustrations by Col. Colville and Captain Swaeby ; and from Photographs by Messrs. 
Elliott & Fry.) 

IRVING, HENRY. (See "Illustrated Interviews") ... — ■""■■ricriTl " I fPOr 28 ° 




LEIGHTON, SIR FREDERICK. {See " Illustrated Interviews ") 

LITTLE GIRL, HIS. By Pleydell North 

(Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.B.A.) 

LITTLE GREY MAN, THE. A Story for Children, From the French of E. Laboulaye 
(Illustrations by H. R. MILLAR.) 

LOST SPEAR, THE. A South African Story, for Children. By Barnard Lewis ... 
(Illustrations by H. R. MILLAR-) 



MARCEAU'S PRISONER. From the French of Alexandre Dumas 
(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

NICETTE. From the French of Saint-Juirs 

(Illustrations by Jean de Pal6ologue.) 

(Illustrations by W. Christian Symons.) 



(Illustrations by Frank Feller.) 


(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 


Caldicott, Alfred Jambs 

Denza, Signor 

Gatty, Alfred Scon- 

Kellie, Lawrence... 
Lara, Isidore de ... 
Mattei, Signor Tito 
Moir, Frank L. 
Slaughter, Walter 
Tosti, Signor 
Tours, Berthold ... 
Wellings, Milton ... 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

PRISONERS, THE. From the French of Guy de Maupassant M 

(Illustrations by W. B. WOLLEN, R I.) 


(Illustrations hy Hal LUDLOW.) 


D'Aosta, Due ~ .. 372 

Barnby, Sir Joseph ... .„ ... 48c 

Bellew, Kyrle 41 

Browne, Dr. Lennox 371 

Calderon, Philip H., R.A. .. 154 

Coqublin, C. 479 

Dicksee, Frank, R-A 264 

Dumas, Alexandre 47 

Emery, Miss Winifred 266 

Farrar, The Ven. Frederic William, 

D.D ... 592 

Foli, Signor 157 

Gleichen, CouNf 477 

Grossmith, George .. 263 

Gunn, William 42 

Harcourt, Sir William 159 

Hawkins, Sir Henry 262 

Hawtrey, Charles H 265 

Herschell, Lord 44 

Lyall, Edna 589 i 

Naoroji, Mr Dadabhai, M.P. 
NErLsoN, Miss Julia (Mrs. Fred Terfy) 

Newnes, George, M.P. 

Paton, Sir Noel 

Ponsonby, Sir Henry 

Pcynier, Edward T., R.A. .. 
Pr j nce op Naples, The 

RivifcRE, Briton 

Roberts, Arthur 

Russell, W. H 

Sardou, Victorien 

Sherwin, Madame Amy 

Shrewsbury, Arthur 

Terry, Fred ... - 

Trebelli, Madame 
Vezin, Hermann 

WALFORD, Mr*> .. 

Whiie, Miss Maul Y au&kiik ... 
Wood, Sir Evelyn 



! S 


! 5 




.. 587 

.. 158 

■ 593 
. 501 

.. 5S8 

. 476 

• 4& 

■ 374 
. 590 

• 375 

- 475 

'. 478 

-. 373 

.. 156 

■ 45 

- 37o 


(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Pry.) 

QUEEN'S HINDUSTANI DIARY, THE. By Moulv.k Rafiuddin Ahmad 


Aristocracy of the Doggy World 

Birth-Rate, The 

Digitized by Ct< 

- Ortgir alfrom" 






QUEER SIDE OF THINGS, THE (continued) — 

Cloaks and Mantles of All Ages 

Club Types 

Curious Boiler Explosion, A 

Dynamite Scare 

Freaks of Vegetation 

Identity of Mr. Push, Tns ... 

In the Park 

Legend of Bill Erie, The 

Miscellaneous . . 

Old Professor Willett 

Pal's Puzzles 

Pictures of a Diver 

Reading in Bed 

Signatures of the Gunpowder Plot Conspirators 

Soldiers of a Cent, rv 




326, 547, 679 







112, 328, 440 


218, 325, 435, 548, 6S0 



54 6 

43 s 



(Illustrations from Drawings and Photographs.) 

RAJEB'S REWARD. A Story for Children. From ihe Arabian ... 
(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 


I. — The Jewelled Skull 

II. — Story of the Great Cat's- Eye 

III. — The Secrets of the Black Brotherhood 

IV. — The Chamber of Shadows 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

RUSSELL, DR. (See " Illustrated Interviews n ) 





SALA, GEORGE AUGUSTUS. (See "Illustrated Interviews") 58 


L — The Diamonds of Shomar's Queen 21 

IL — The Jasper Vale of the Falling Star 138 

III. — The Black Horsemen of Nisha the Seer 254 

IV. — Darak, the Scorn of the Afghans 407 

V.— The Sword-Hilt of the Idol at Delhi 443 

VI.— The Hindu Fakir 558 

(Illustrations by A. Pearse.) 

SONG : " Infinite Love." Music by Maud Valerie White. Words by D. G. Rossetti ... 364 
(Illustrations by Alan Wright.) 

STORY OF MONT BLANC, THE. By J. E. Muddock 90 

(Illustrations by W. H. J. Boot, R.B.A.) 


(Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.) 

TERRY, MISS ELLEN. (See " Illustrated Interviews ") 489 

THERE'S MANY A SLIP. By Annie L. Coghill 160 

(Illustrations by W. S. Stacey.) 

THREE BROTHER BEASTS, THE. A Story for Children. From the Italian 315 

(Illustrations by H. R. MlLLAR.) 

THREE LEMONS, THE. A Story for Children. From the Italian 209 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millak.) 

TOILERS OF THE ROCKS, THE. Translated from Ferdinand de Saar 607 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

TRIFULGAS, DR. By Jules Verne 53 

(Illustrations by Jean de Pal£ologue.) 


I.— Miss Taylor, Miss Hope Temple, Miss Heaton, Miss Rose Murray, Miss Norah 
Williamson, Mrs. Webb, Miss Marion Hood, Miss Ethel Matthews, Miss Ansell, 

Miss Reynolds 305 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Alex. Bassano. Borders by John Gulich.) 
IL— Lady Carew, Lady Coleridge, Miss E. Lane-Fox, Miss Leyson, Mrs. Slater, 

Lady Brooke, Miss A. Moore, Miss Helen Conway, Miss A. Lloyd 404 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Alex. Bassano. Borders bv Tohn Gulich.) 

Digitized by C_t< 

Ml I I _» I 1 1 




TYPES OF ENGLISH BEAUTY (continued):— page. 

III.— Mrs. Cameron, Miss Kenna, Miss Brownrigg, Miss Reiss, Miss Carlisle, Miss 

Kingston, Miss Gossr, Miss St. Clair, Miss Forsyth 509 

{Illustrations from Photographs by Alex. Bassano. Borders by Alan Wright.) 
IV.— Miss Phyllis Broughton, Miss Day-Ford, Miss E. Carlington, Miss M. Grey, Miss 
IL Hamer, Miss E. Johnstone, Miss M. Kenyan, Miss N. Maguire, Miss M. Studholme 620 
{Illustrations from Photographs by W. D. Downey. Borders by Alan Wright.) 

UGLY MARGOT. A Tale of the French Revolution 
{Illustrations by Jean DE Pal^OLOGUE.) 

•*• ••« 


VISION OF THE NIGHT, A By Richard Marsh 
{Illustrations by John Gulich.) 

{Written and Illustrated^ F. G. Kitton.) 

... ,*. 623 
» 340 

WELLDON, REV. J. E. C. {Sec " Illustrated Interviews") 

ZERBIN THE WOOD-CUTTER. From the French of E. Laboulaye 
{Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

ZIG-ZAGS AT THE ZOO. By Arthur Morrison. 

I. Zig-Zag Prelusory 

II. Zig-Zag Ursine 

III. Zig-Zag Cameline 

IV.— Zig-Zag Miscellavian 

V. — Zig-Zag Leonine 

VI.— Zig-Zag Elephantine 

(Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd.) 








Ml I I '.' I 1 1 


C^f\r%Ci\i^ Original from 





From thf French of Alexandre Dumas, 


N the evening of the 15th of 
December, 1793, a traveller, 
pausing on the summit of the 
mountain at the foot of 
which rolls the river Moine, 
near the village of Saint- 
Cr^pin, would have looked down upon a 
strange spectacle. 

He would have perceived thick volumes 
of smoke rising from the roofs and windows 
of cottages, succeeded by fierce tongues 
of flame, and in the crimson glare of 
the increasing conflagration the glitter 
of arms. A Republican brigade of twelve 
or fifteen hundred men had found the 
village of Saiut-Crepin abandoned, and had 
set it in a blaze. Apart from the rest stood 
a cottage, which had been left untouched 
by the flames* At the door were stationed 
two sentinels* Inside, sitting at a table, 
was a young man, who appeared to be from 
twenty to twenty- two years old* His long, 
fair hair waved round his clear-cut features, 
and his blue mantle, but half concealing 
his figure, left revealed the epaulettes of a 
general. He was tracing on a map by the 
light of a lamp the route his soldiers must 
follow. This man was General Marceau. 

u Alexandre,'* he said, turning to his 
sleeping companion, M wake up; an order 
has arrived from General Westermann,'- 
and he handed the despatch to his col- 

" Who brought the order; " 
" Delmar, the people's representative." 
ki Very good. Where do these poor 
devils assemble ? " 

*' In a wood a league and a half from 
this place. It is here upon the map. 11 

Then orders, given in a low voice, broke 
up the group of soldiers extended round 

the ashes which had once been a village. 
The line of soldiers descended the roadway 
which separates Saint- Crepin from Mont- 
faucon, and when, some seconds after , the 
moon shone forth between two clouds upon 
the long lines of bayonets, they seemed to 
resemble a great black serpent with scales 
of steel gliding away into the darkness, 

They marched thus for half an hour, 
Marceau at their head, The study he had 
made of the localities prevented him from 
missing the route, and after a quarter of an 
hour's further march they perceived before 
them the black mass of the forest. Accord- 
ing to their instructions, it was there that 
the inhabitants of some villages and the 
remnants of several armies were to assemble 
to hear mass ; altogether about eighteen 
hundred Royalists, 

The two generals separated their little 
troop into several parties, with orders to 
surround the forest. As they advanced 
thus in a circle, it seemed that the glade 
which formed the centre of the forest was 
lighted up. Still approaching, they could 
distinguish the glare of torches, and soon, 
as objects became more distinct, a strange 
scene burst upon their sight. 

Upon an altar, roughly represented by 
some piles of stones, stood the cure of the 
village of Sainte-Marie-de-Rhe, chanting 
the mass ; grouped round him was a circle 
of old men grasping torches, and, upon 
their knees, women and children were 
praying. Between the Republicans and this 
group a wall of soldiers was placed. It was 
evident that the Royalists had been warned. 

They did not wait to be attacked, but 
opened fire at once upon their assailants, 
who advanced without firing a single shot. 
The priest still continued chanting the 
mass. When the Republicans were thirty 



knelt down ; three lines of barrels were 
lowered like corn before the wind ; the 
volley burst forth. The light gleamed upon 
the lines of the RoyaJists, and some shots 
struck the women and children kneeling at 
the foot of the altar. For an instant Avails 
of distress arose. Then the priest held up 
his crucifix, and all was silent again. 

The Republicans, still advancing, fired 
their second discharge, and now neither 
side had time to load ; it was a hand-to- 
hand fight with bayonets, and all advantage 
was on the side of the well-armed Republi- 
cans, The Royalists gave way ; entire 
ranks fell. The priest, perceiving this, made 
a sign. The torches were extinguished, 
and all was darkness. Then followed a 
scene of disorder and carnage, w r here each 
man struck with blind fury, and died with- 
out asking for pity. 

" Mercy ! mercy ! " cried a heartrending 
voice, suddenly, at Marceau's feet, as he was 
about to strike. It was a young boy with- 
out weapons. §t Save me, in the name of 
Heaven ! " he cried. 

The general stooped and dragged him 
some paces from the affray, but as he did 
so the youth fainted. Such excess of ter- 
ror in a soldier astonished Marceau ; but, 
notwithstanding, he loosened his collar to 
give him air. His captive was a girl ! 

There was not an instant to lose. The 
Convention's orders were imperative ; all 
Royalists taken with or without weapons, 
whatever their age or sex, must perish 
upon the scaffold. He placed the young 
girl at the foot of a tree, and ran towards 
the skirmish. Amongst the dead he per- 
ceived a young Republican officer, whose 
figure appeared to him about the same as 
that of his prisoner. He stripped him 
quickly of his coat and hat, and returned 
with them to the girl. The freshness of 
the night had revived her. 

" My father ! my father ! " were her first 
words. u I have abandoned him ; he will 
be killed ! " 

" Mademoiselle Blanche ! " suddenly 
whispered a voice behind the tree, "the 
Marquis de Beaulieu lives ; he is saved." 
And he who had said these words disap- 
peared like a shadow. 

"Tinguy, Tinguy ! " cried the girl, ex- 
tending her arms towards the spot where 
he had stood. 

" Silence ! a word will denounce you," 
said Marceau ; " and I wish to save you. 
Put on this coat and hat and wait here." 

He returned to his soldiers, gave orders 

for them to retire upon Chollet, left his 
companion in command, and came back to 
his prisoner. Finding her ready to follow 
him, he directed their steps to the road 
where his servant waited with horses. The 
young girl sprang into the saddle with all 
the grace of a practised rider. Three- 
quarters of an hour after they galloped 
into Chollet. Marceau, with his little 
escort, took his way to the Hotel Sans 
Culotte. He engaged two rooms, and con- 
ducted the young girl to one of them, 
advising her, at the same time, to take 
some rest after the fearful night she had 
endured. Whilst she slept, Marceau deter- 
mined on the course he would take to save 
her. He would take her himself to Nantes, 
where his mother lived. He had not seen 
her for three years, and it would be natural 
enough for him to ask permission for leave 
of absence. As dawn began to break he 
entered General Westermann's house. His 
demand was accorded at once, but it was 
necessary that his permission should be 
signed by Delmar. The General promised 
to send him with the certificate, and Marceau 
returned to the hotel to snatch a few 
moments of repose. 

Marceau and Blanche were about to sit 
down to breakfast when Delmar "appeared 
in the doorway. He was one of Robes- 
pierre's agents, in whose hands the guillotine 
was more active than intelligent. 

11 Ah ! " he said to Marceau, 4i you wish 
to leave us already, citizen, but you have 
done this night's work so well I can refuse 
you nothing. My only regret is that the 
Marquis de Beaulieu escaped. I had pro- 
mised the Convention to send them his 

Blanche stood erect and pale like a 
statue of terror. Marceau placed himself 
before her. 

u But we will follow his track. Here 
is your permission," he added ; " you can 
start when you choose. But I cannot quit 
you without drinking to the health of the 
Republic." And he sat down at the table 
by the side of Blanche. 

They were beginning to feel more at 
ease, when a discharge of musketry burst 
upon their ears. The General leapt to his 
feet and rushed to his arms, but Delmar 
stopped him. 

i4 What noise is that ? " asked Marceau. 

" Oh, nothing ! " replied Delmar. " Last 
night's prisoners being shot." Blanche 
uttered a cry of terror. Delmar turneii 


11 Here is a fine thing/' he said. li If 
soldier? tremble like women, we shall have 
to dress up our women as soldiers. It is 

' • 


true you are very young/* he continued, 
catching hold of her and scanning her 
closely* ** you will get used to it in time/' 

4i Never, never ! ' ? cried Blanche, without 
dreaming how dangerous it was fur her to 
manifest her feelings before such a witness. 
41 1 could never get used to such horrors/ 1 

14 Boy/' he replied, loosing her, "do you 
think a nation can be regenerated without 
spilling blood ? Listen to my advice ; keep 
your reflections to yourself. If ever you 
fall into the hands of the Royalists they 
will give you no more mercy than I have 
done to their soldiers/ 1 And saying these 
words he went out. 

u Blanche,* 1 said Marceau, " do you know, 
if that man had given one gesture, one 
sign, that he recognised you, I would have 
blown his brains nut ? >f 

11 My God ! M she said, hiding her face in 
her hands, u when I think that my father 
might fall into the hands of this tiger, 
that if he had been made a prisoner, this 

night, before my eyes It is atrocious. Is 

there no longer pity in this world ? Oh ! 
pardon, pardon/' she said, turning to 
Marceau, u who should know that better 
than I?" 

At this instant a servant entered and 
announced that the horses were ready* 

11 Let u& start, in the name of Heaven ! ,T 
she cried ; u there is blood in the air wc 
breathe here. 1 " 

u Yes, let us go, 1 ' replied Mar- 
ceau, and they descended together* 

Makceau found at the door a 
troop of thirty men whom the 
General-in-Chief had ordered to 
escort them to Nantes, 

As they galloped along the high- 
road, Blanche told him her history; 
how, her mother being dead, she 
had been brought up by her father ; 
how her education, given 
by a man, had accus- 
tomed her to exercises 
which, on the insurrec- 
tion breaking out, had 
become so useful to her 
in following her father. 

As she finished her 
story, they saw twinkling 
before them in the mist 
the lights of Nantes. 
The little troop crossed 
the Loire, and sonic 
seconds after Marceau 
was in the arms of his mother. A few 
words sufficed to interest his mother and 
sisters in his young companion. No sooner 
had Blanche manifested a desire to change 
her dress than the two young girls led her 
away* each disputing which should have the 
pleasure of serving her as ladyVmaid, 
When Blanche reentered, Marceau stared 
in astonishment. In her first costume he 
had hardly noticed her extreme beauty and 
gracefulness, which she had now resumed 
with her woman's dress. It is true, she had 
taken the greatest pains to make herself as 
prettv as possible ; for one instant before 
her glass she had forgotten war, insurrection, 
and carnage. The most innocent soul has 
its coquetry when it first begins to love* 

Marceau could not utter a word, and 
Blanche smiled joyously, for she saw that 
she appeared as beautiful to him as she had i 

In the evening the young fiance of 
Marceau's sister came, and there was one 
house in Nantes — one only, perhaps — where 
all was happiness and love, surrounded, as 
it was, by tears and sorrow. 

And now, from this time forth, a new 
life began for Marceau and Blanche. 
Marceau saw a happier future before him, 
and it was no; strange that Blanche should 



desire the presence of the man who had 
saved her life. Only from time to time as 
she thought of her father tears would pour 
from her eyes, and Marceau would reassure 
her, and to distract her thoughts would 
tell her of his first campaign ; how the 
schooi-boy had become a soldier at fifteen, 
an officer at seventeen, a colonel at nineteen, 
and a general at twenty- one. 

Nantes at this time writhed under the 
yoke of Carrier, Its streets ran with blood, 
and Carrier, who was to Robespierre what 
the hysena is to the tiger, and the jackal to 
the lion, gorged himself with the purest of 
this blood. No one bore a reputation more 
blameless than that of the young general, 
Marceau, and no suspicion had 
as yet attacked his mother or 
sisters. And now the day fixed 
for the marriage of one of these ,*— * 

young girls 

Amongst the 
jewels that *\lar- 
teau had sent for, 
he chose a neck- 
lace of precious 
stones, which he 
offieredto Blanche. 

She looked at 
it first with all 
the coquet ry of a 
young girl ; then 
she closed the box. 

41 Jewels are out 
1 of place in my 
situation, " she 
said. *M cannot 
accept it, whilst 
my father, hunted 
from place to 
place, perhaps 
begs a morse] of 
bread for his food, 
and a granary for 
his shelter/' 

Marceau press- 
ed her in vain. 
She would ac- 
cept nothing but 
an artificial red 

appeared familiar to Marceau, held in his 
hand two bouquets. One he gave to the 
young bride, and, advancing toward Blanche, 
who regarded him fixedly, he presented her 
with the other. 

"Tiriguy, where is my father?" said 
Blanche, growing very pale. 

41 At Saint-Florent,'' replied the sailor, 
" Takr thi- bouquet. There is a letter 

Blanche wished to stop him, to speak to 
him, but he had disappeared. She read 
the letter with anxiety. The Royalists had 
suffered defeat after defeat, giving way 
before devastation and famine, The 
Marquis had learnt everything through 






The churches 
being closed, the ceremony took place at 
the village hotel. At the door of the hotel 
a deputation of sailors awaited the young 
coup I w One of these men, whose face 

Digitized by t-T* 


the watchfulness of Tinguy. Blanche was 
sad. This letter had cast her back again 
into all the horrors of war, Daring the 
ceremony a stranger who had, he said, 




affairs of the utmost importance to com- 
municate to Marceau had been ushered 
into the saloon. As Marceau entered the 
room, his head bent towards Blanche, who 
leant upon his arm, he did not perceive 
him. Suddenly he felt her tremble. He 
looked up. Blanche and he were face to 
face with Delmar. He approached them 
slowly, his eyes fixed on Blanche, a smile 
upon his lips. With his forehead beaded 
with cold sweat, Marceau regarded him 
advance as Don Juan regarded the statue 
of the commandant. 

44 You have a brother, citizeness ? " he 
said to Blanche. She stammered. Delmar 
continued — 

44 If my memory and your face do not 
deceive me, we breakfasted together at 
Chollet. How is it I have not seen you since 
in the ranks of the Republican army ? " 

Blanche felt as if she were going to fall, 
for the eye of Delmar pierced her through 
and through. Then he turned to Marceau ; 
it was Delmar's turn to tremble. The young 
general had his hand upon the hilt of 
his sword, which he gripped convulsively. 
Delmar 's face resumed its habitual expres- 
sion ; he appeared to have totally forgotten 
what he was about to say, and taking 
Marceau by the arm he drew him into the 
niche of a window, and talked to him a few 
minutes about the situation in La Vendee, 
and told him he had come to consult with 
Carrier on certain rigorous measures about 
to be inflicted on the Royalists. Then he 
quitted the room, passing Blanche, who had 
fallen cold and white into a chair, with a 
bow and a smile. 

Two hours after Marceau received orders 
to rejoin his army, though his leave of 
absence did not expire for fifteen days. He 
believed this to have some connection with 
the scene which had just passed. He must 
obey, however ; to hesitate were to be lost. 

Marceau presented the order to Blanche. 
He regarded her sadly. Two tears rolled 
down her pale cheeks, but she was silent. 

44 Blanche/ 1 he said, * 4 war makes us mur- 
derous and cruel ; it is possible that we shall 
see each other no more/ 1 He took her 
hand. " Promise me, if I fall, that you will 
remember me sometimes, and I promise 
you, Blanche, that if between my life and 
death I have the time to pronounce one 
name — one alone — it shall be yours." 
Blanche was speechless for tears, but in 
her eyes were a thousand promises more 
tender than that which Marceau demanded. 
With one hand she pressed Marceau's, and 

pointed with the other to his rose, which 
she wore in her hair. 

44 It shall never leave me," she said. 

An hour after he was on the road to 
rejoin his army. Each step he took on the 
road they had journeyed together recalled 
her to his mind, and the danger she ran 
appeared more menacing now that he was 
away from her side. Each instant he felt 
ready to rein in his horse and gallop back 
to Nantes. If Marceau had not been so 
intent upon his own thoughts he would have 
perceived at the extremity of the road and 
coming towards him, a horseman who, after 
stopping an instant to assure himself he 
was not mistaken, had put his horse at a 
gallop and joined him. He recognised 
General Dumas. The two friends leapt 
from their horses and cast themselves into 
each other's arms. At the same instant a 
man, his hair streaming with perspiration, 
his face bleeding, his clothing rent, sprang 
over the hedge and, half fainting, fell at 
the feet of the two friends, exclaiming — 

44 She is arrested ! " 

It was Tinguy. 

44 Arrested ! Who ? Blanche ! " cried 

The peasant made an affirmative sign. 
He could no longer speak. He had run 
five leagues, crossing fields and hedges in 
his flight to join Marceau. 

Marceau stared at him stupidly. 

44 Arrested ! Blanche arrested ! " he re- 
peated continually, whilst his friend applied 
his gourd full of wine to the clenched teeth 
of the peasant. 

44 Alexandre," cried Marceau, 41 1 shall 
return to Nantes ; I must follow her, for 
my life, my future, my happiness, all is 
with her ! " His teeth chattered violently, 
and his body trembled convulsively. 

44 Let him beware who has dared to put 
his hand on Blanche. I love her with 
all the strength of my soul ; existence is no 
longer possible for me without her. Oh, 
fool that I was to leave her ! Blanche 
arrested ! And where has she been taken?" 

Tinguy, to whom this question was 
addressed, commenced to recover. 44 To 
the prison of Bouffays," he answered. 

The words were hardly out of his mouth 
when the two friends were galloping back 
to Nantes. 

Marceau knew he had not an instant to 
lose : he directed his steps at once to 
Carrier's house. But neither menaces nor 
prayers could obtain an interview from the 



Marceau turned away quietly ; he ap- 
peared in the interval to have adapted ^ 
new project, and he prayed his companion 
to await him at the gate of the prison with 
horses and a carriage. 

Before Marceau h s name and rank the 
prison gates were soon opened, and he 
commanded the gaoler to eon duet him to 
the cell where Blanche was enclosed* The 
nnn hesitated; but t on Marceau repeating 
his desire in a more imperative tone, he 
obeyed, making him a sign to follow him, 

"She is not alone/' said his guide, as he 
unlocked the low-arched door of a cell whose 
sombre gloom made Marceau shudder, 
"but she will not be troubled long with 
her companion \ he is to be guillotined 
to-day. 1 * Saying these words he closed the 
door on Marceau, and determined to keep 
as quiet as possible concerning an inter- 
view which would be so compromising to 

Still da^led from his sudden passage 
from day to darkness, Marceau groped his 
way into the cell like a man in a dream. 
Then he heard a cry, and the young girl 
flung herself into his arms. She clung to 
him with inarticulate sobs and convulsive 

" You have not abandoned me, then/' 

she cried. '* They ar- 
rested me, dragged me 
here \ in the crowd 
which followed I re- 
cognised Tinguy, I 
cried out ' Marceau ! 
Marceau ! * and he dis- 
appeared. Now you 
have come, you will 
take me away, you will 
not leave me here? " 

4b I wish I could tear 
you away this moment, 
if it were at the price of 
my life ; but it is im- 
possible. Give me two 
days, Blanche, but two 
days. Now I wish you 
to answer me a ques- 
tion on which your life 
and mine depend. An- 
swer me as you would 
answertoGod. Blanche, 
do you love me ? ,r 

u Is this the time and 
place for such a ques- 
tion ? Do you think 
these walls are used to 
vows of love ? Tt 
" This A the moment, for we are between 
life and death. Blanche, be quick and 
answer me ; each instant robs us of a day, 
each hour, of a year* Do you love me ? " 
4i Oh ! yes, yes ! 1J These words escaped 
from the young girl's heart, who, forgetting 
that no one could see her blushes, hid her 
head upon his breast. 

il Well ! Blanche, jou must accept me at 
once for your husband/ 1 
The young girl trembled* 
41 What can be your design ? T ' 
* 4 My motive is to tear you from death; 
we will see if they will send to the scaffold 
the wife of a Republican general/' 

Then Blanche understood it all ; but she 
trembled at the danger to which he must 
expose himself to save her. Her love for 
hi in increased, and with it her courage 
"It is impossible/ 1 she said, firmly, 
11 Impossible ! T1 interrupted Marceau, 
H what can rise between us and happiness, 
since you have avowed you love me ? 
Listen, then, to the reason which has made 
you reject your only w^iy of escape. 
Listen, Blanche ! I saw you and loved you ; 
that love has become a passion. My life is 
yours, your fate is mine ; happiness or 
death, I will share either with you ; iuj 



povvef can separate us, 


if I 


quitted you, I have only to cry ' Vtve lc 
rot'/ 9 and your prison gates will reopen, 
and we will come out no more except 
together. Death upon the ^anie scaffold i 
that will be enough for me." 

11 Oh, no, no ; leave me, in the name of 
Heaven, leave me ! " 

11 Leave you ! Take heed what you say t 
for if I quit this prison without having the 
right to defend you, I shall seek out your 
father — your father whom you have for- 
gotten, and who weeps for you — and I shall 
say to him : ; Old man, she could have 
saved herself, but she has not done so ; 
she has wished your last days to be passed 
in mourning, and her blood to be upon your 
white hair, Weep, old man, not because 
your daughter is dead, but because she did 
not love you well enough to live*" 

Marceau had repulsed her, and she had 
fallen on her knees beside him, and he, 
with his teeth clenched, strode to and fro 
with a bitter laugh ; then he heard her sob, 
the tears leapt to his eyes, and he fell at her 

" Blanche, by all that is most sacred in 
the world, consent to become my wife ! '' 

" You must, young girl,-' interrupted a 
strange voice, which made them tremble 
and rise together, " It is the only way to 
preserve your life. Religion commands 
you, and I am ready to bless 
your union." Marceau turned 
astonished, and recognised the 
cure of Sainte-Marie-de-Rhe T 
who had made part of the 
gathering which he had attack- 
ed on the night when Blanche 
became his prisoner. 

*' Oh, my father,' 7 he cried, 
seizing his hand, 4i obtain her 
consent ! w 

" Blanche de Beaulieu," re- 
plied the priest, with solemn 
accents, " in the name of your 
father t whom my age and 
friendship give me the right 
of representing, I command 
you to obey this young man."' 

Blanche seemed agitated 
with a thousand different 
emotions ; at last she threw 
herself into Marceau's arms. 

u I cannot resist any longer/' 
she said* i( Marceau, I love 
you, and I will be your wife." 
Their lips joined ; Marceau 
was at the lieight of joy ; he 

seemed to have forgotten everything. The 
priest's voice broke in upon their ecstasy, 

h We must be quick, 1 * he said, bb for my 
moments arc numbered/ 1 

The two lovers trembled ; this voice 
recalled them to earth. Blanche glanced 
around the cell with apprehension. 

" What a moment/' she said, * 4 to unite 
our destinies ! Can you think a union 
consecrated under vaults so sombre and 
lugubrious can be fortunate and happy ? " 

Marceau shuddered, for he himself was 
touched with superstitious terror. He 
drew Blanche to that part of the cell where 
the daylight struggling through the crossed 
bars of a narrow air-hole rendered the 
shadows less thick, and there, falling on 
their knees, they awaited the priest's bless- 
ing. As he extended his arms above them 
and pronounced the sacred words, the clash 
of arms and the tread of soldiers was heard 
in the corridor. 

Blanche cast herself in terror into 
Marceau's arms- 

bt Can they have conic to seek me 
already ? " she cried. "Oh, my love, how 
frightful death is at this moment ! I? The 
young General threw himself before the 
door, a pistol in each hand. The astonished 
soldiers drew back. 


riginal from 



" Reassure yourselves," said the priest ; 
"it is I whom they seek. It is I who 
must die." 

The soldiers surrounded him. 

"My children," he cried, in a loud voice, 
addressing himself to the young pair. " On 
your knees ; for with one foot in the tomb 
I give you my last benediction, and that 
of a dying person is sacred." He drew, as 
he spoke, a crucifix from his breast, and 
extended it towards them ; himself about 
to die, it was for them he prayed. 

There was a solemn silence. 

Then the soldiers surrounded him, the 
door closed, and all disappeared. 

Blanche threw her arms about Marceau's 

" Oh, if you leave me, and they come 
to seek me, and you are not here to aid me ! 
Oh, Marceau, think of me upon the 
scaffold far from you, weeping, and calling 
you, without response ! Oh, do not go ! do 
not go ! I will cast myself at their feet ; 
I will tell them I am not guilty, that, if 
they will leave me in prison with you all 
my life, I will bless them ! " 

44 I am sure to save you, Blanche ; I 
answer for your life. In less than two days 
I shall be here with your pardon, and theri, 
instead of a prison arjd a cell, a life of 
happiness, a life of liberty and love ! " 

The door opened, the gaoler appeared. 
Blanche clung more closely to her lover's 
breast, but each instant was precious, and he 
gently unwound her arms from about him, 
and promised to return before the close of 
the second day. 

44 Love me for ever," he said, rushing out 
of the cell. 

44 For ever," said Blanche, half fainting, 
and showing him in her hair the red rose 
that he had given her. Then the door 
closed upon him like the gate of the 


Marceau found his companion waiting for 
him at the porter's lodge. He called for 
ink and paper. 

44 What are you about to do ? " asked his 

44 1 am going to write to Carrier, to de- 
mand a respite of two days, and to tell him 
his own life depends on Blanche's." 

44 Wretched man ! " cried his friend, 
snatching the unfinished letter away from 
him. 44 You threaten him, you who are in 
his power, you who have set his orders to 
rejoin your army at defiance. Before an 

byVjOOHlC ' 

hour passes you will be arrested, and what 
then can you do for yourself or her ? " 

Marceau let his head fall between his 
hands, and appeared to reflect deeply. 

44 You are right," he cried, rising sud- 
denly ; and he drew his friend into the 

A group of people were gathered round 
a post-chaise. 

44 If this evening is hazy," whispered a 
voice at Marceau's ear, 44 1 do not know 
what would prevent twenty strong fellows 
from entering the town and freeing the 
prisoners. It is a pity that Nantes is so 
badly guarded." 

Marceau trembled, turned, and recognised 
Tinguy, darted a glance of intelligence at 
him, and sprang into the carriage. 

44 Paris ! " he called to the postillion, and 
the horses darted forward with the rapidity 
of lightning. At eight o'clock the carriage 
entered Paris. 

Marceau and his friend separated at the 
square of the Palais-Egalit6, and Marceau 
took his way alone on foot through the Rue 
Saint-Honord, descended at the side of 
Saint-Roch, stopped at No. 366, and asked 
for Robespierre. He was informed that he 
had gone to the Theatre de la Nation. 
Marceau proceeded there, astonished to have 
to seek in such a place the austere member 
of the Committee of Public Welfare. He 
entered, and recognised Robespierre half 
hidden in the shadow of a box. As he 
arrived outside the door he met him coming 
out. Marceau presented himself, and gave 
him his name. 

44 What can I do for you ? " said Robes- 

44 1 desire an interview with you." 

44 Here, or at my house ? " 

44 At your house." 

44 Come, then." 

And these two men, moved by feelings 
so opposite, walked along side by side, 
Robespierre indifferent and calm, Marceau 
passionate and excited. This was the man 
who held within his hands the fate of 

They arrived at Robespierre's house, en- 
tered, and ascended a narrow staircase, 
which led them to a chamber on the third 
floor. A bust of Rousseau, a table, on which 
lay open the 4i Contrat Social " and 44 Emile," 
a chest of drawers, and some chairs, com- 
pleted the furniture of the apartment. 

44 Here is Caesar's palace," said Robes- 
pierre, smiling ; u what have you to demand 
from its president ? " 




li The pardon of my wife T who is con- 
demned to death by Carrier. 11 

11 Your wife condemned to death by 
Carrier ! The wife of Marceau, the well- 
known Republican ! the Spartan soldier ! 
What is Carrier then doing at Nantes ? ,1 

Marceau gave him an account of the 
atrocities which Carrier was superintending 
at Nantes, 

"See how I am always misunderstood/' 
cried Robespierre, with a hoarse voice, 
broken by emotion, u Above all, where 
my eyes cannot see, nor my hand arrest. 
There is enough blood being spilt that we 
cannot avoid, and we are not at the end of 
it yet.** 

"Then give me my wife's pardon. " 

Robespierre took a leaf of white paper, 

Lk What was her name ? ri 

" Why do you wish to know that ? " 

u It is necessary in cases of identity." 

" Blanche de Beaulieu," 

u There 


Robespierre let his pen fall, 

11 What ? The daughter of the Marquis 
de Beaulieu, the chief of the Royalists of La 
Vendee. Hsw is it that she hyour wife ? " 

Marceau told him all. 

u Young fool and madman ! " he said. 

"Must you 1T Marceau interrupted 


41 1 ask from you neither insults nor abuse. 
I ask for her life. Will you give it me ? " 

41 Will family ties, love's influence, never 
lead you to betray the Republic ? " 
H Never/ 1 

iv If you find yourself armed, face to face 
with the Marquis de Beaulieu ? ,? 

* b I will fight against him as I have already 

14 And if he falls into your hands ? ?t 
Marceau reflected an instant : 
*' I will bring him tu you, and you shall 
be his judge." 

" You swear it to me ? " 
i( Upon my honour/' 
Robespierre took up his pen and finished 

your wife's pardon/' he said. 
* k You can depart. 1 T 

Marceau Look his 
hand and wrung it 
with force. He wish- 
ed to speak, but 
tears choked his ut- 
terance ; and it was 
Robespierre who 
Laid to him — 

,( Go ! there is not 
an instant to lose, 
iu revnir ! " 

Marceau sprang 
down the stairs and 
into the street, and 
toward the 
where his car- 
riage waited. 

From what 
a weight his 
heart was 
freed ! What 
happiness awaited him ! What joy 
after so much grief ! His imagina- 
tion plunged into the future, and 
he saw the moment when, appear- 
ing on the threshold of the prison-cdl, 
he would cry — 

11 Blanche", you are saved! You are 
free ! Before us lies a life of love and 

Yet from time to time a vague uneasi- 
ness tormented him ; a sudden chill struck, 
cold upon his heart. He spurred on the 
postillions by lavish promises of gold, and 
the horses flew along the road. Everything 




seemed to partake of the feverish agitation 
of hi? blood. In a few hours he had left 
Versailles Chartes, Le Mans, La Fleche 
behind him. They were nearing Angers, 
when suddenly, with a terrible crash, the 
carriage heeled over on its side, and he 
fell. He rose hurt and bleeding, separated 
with his sabre the traces which bound one 
of the horses, and, leaping on its back, 
reached the next post ; and, taking a fresh 
horse, rapidly continued his course. 

And now he has crossed Angers, he per- 
ceives Nigrande, reaches Varade, passes 
Aiicenis ; his horse streams with foam and 
blood. He gains Saint - Donatien, then 
Nantes— Nantes, which encloses his life, 
his happiness! Some seconds after he 
passes the gates, he is in the town, he reins 
in his horse before the prison of Boufiays. 
He has arrived. What matters all their 
troubles now ? He calls — 
" Blanche, Blanche ! ?T 
The gaoler appear* and replies — 
"Two carts have just left the prison. 
Mademoiselle de Beaulieu was in the first," 

With a curse upon his lips, Marceau 
springs to the ground, and rushes with the 
huhtling crowd towards the great square. 
He comes up with the last of the two carts ; 
one of the prisoners inside recognises him. 
It is Tinguy. 

fcl Save her ! save her! " he cries out, "for 
I have failed ! " 

Marceau pn-liL> mi through the crowd ; 
they hustle him, they press around him, 
but he hurls them out of his path. He 
arrives upon the place of execution. Before 
him is the scaffold. He flourishes aloft the 
scrap of paper, crying — 

iv A pardon ! a pardon ! " 

At that instant the executioner, seizing 
by its long, fair hair the head of a young 
girl, held it up before the terrified crowd. 

Suddenly from the midst of that silent 
crowd a cry was heard— a cry of anguish, 
in which there seemed to have been gathered 
all the forces of human agony. Marceau 
had recognised between the teeth of this 
uplifted head the red rose which he had 
given to his young bride. 

by Google 

Original from 

go through it in 
/ig-zags. The 
direct road is 
the path of the 
toiler. Observe 
a man at a pic- 
ture exhibition 
— a man who 
begins at num- 
ber one on the 
catalogue and 
goes right 
through with 
solemn persis- 
tence until he 
arrives at the 
longest number 
at the last page, and the utter- 
most corner of the last gallery. That man is 
either - doing the show'* for a newspaper, or prefers to 
make the pictures an affliction unto himself, A picture show, 
everything else, should be taken on the zig-zag 

f* pUns'apd'cogiUtes.the nearest way bgggjg two streets- that man 
too bus^ p*?di\ffel^pk s to know t* 

vay between jtjyo streets 
hewceisof thezi-zag. 



To go upon 



Many good friends have 
These good friends devote th 
zoology, and are, or should be 
society. To pay certain gold 
of the society would live 
amiably behind bars for the 

made the subject of personal 
impudences ? Now, all these 
fine fellows have 
their individual 

the zig-zag is to see more, and with greater 
entertainment. Who sees more stars, more 
amp -posts, front -doors, and keyholes 
than other men — yea, even unto tenfold ? 
He who goes home on the zig- 
zag. The zig-zag is the token, 
the mystic sign, of contentful 
ease and good fellowship the 
world over \ the very word 
is passed to us, like a loving* 
cup, by the French, who 
have taken it in all good 
amity from the Germans, 
as Littre himself testifieth, 
and what greater sign of 
universal brotherhood shall 
you want than that ? The 
zig-zag, too, is necessary ; for 
the soberest citizen may not 
walk home through many streets 
in a straight line, lest he break his 
nose. ik Zig-zag : something with 
short sharp turn?," says the respect- 
able Webster, Let us, therefore, take 
here a sharp turn, lest we run our noses 
against the wall of brown speculation, 
in the gardens of the Zoological Society of London, 
eir entire lives to the furtherance of a popular taste for 
at once elected, most distinguished active members of the 
guineas a year is a good thing ; but what human member 

>$ [ 

little personal habits and 
crotchets, just as have tho?e 
distinguished zoologists who walk 
upright and wear tail-coats. For 
instance, you may have come upon 
a row of three I tons , or monkeys, or 
seals, as the case may be, and to you, 
a casual visitor, they shall be but three very 
similar seals o^" monkey? or lions. So also in 




the official guide-book, for a guide-book which is sober and official can say no other. 
But scrape close acquaintance with those creatures and talk to their keepers, and 
you shall find them Bill, Polly, and Sam : Bill, perhaps, being an easy- 
going lion (or seal or monkey), with a weakness for a lump 
of sugar, and a disregard of the state of his 
coat ; Polly a coquette, with a vast pride in 
her tail ; and Sam a touchy old fellow who 
objects to all but one particular 
keeper ; and each with a history, 
Among these distinguished per- 
sonages shall we zig-zag, and 
improve acquaintance. Meantime, 
let us sit upon this seat on the 
terrace with a good view of the 
gardens before us, while the big 
good-humoured Jung Perchad 
stalks along below with a how- 
dahful of children and an eye 
to the casual bun ; and let us 

I like to conduct my 
brown studies in an atmos- 
phere of mingled evolution 
and metempsychosis. It 
is a pity that the theory 
of our evolution from 
:1k primordial proto- 
plasm in an inclusive 
line through 
every living 
species should 
now be con- 
sidered old-fashioned, I like to imagine that among my remote ancestors every living 
thing is represented — it gives them a family interest. And if, further, I can persuade 
myself that / have been everything, at one time or another, from a bluebottle to a 
giraffe — why, then I can brown-studv forever. The imagina- 
tive mind can compass all things. Well may I remember 
the comfort of a mouth six feet by measurement along 

the lips, in a crocodile. You take in 
one large generous smile, and he is seen no more 
And a tail for others — the cow, the dog^ the 
horse, the lion, the tiger — is a convenience, both 
as a fly- whisk and as a help to working up a 
tantrum. In evolution from a bluebottle to a 
giraffe one learns the value of these things. 

As a bluebottle, I think I should have 
enjoyed life — as a young one certainly ; 
an elderly bluebottle gets bloated, slow, 
and gouty, losing his sense of 
humour. He grows infirm of pur- 
pose, too, and forgets to return to 
the same spot on a bald head after 
the eighteenth time of chasing 
off — the eighteenth time being 
really just when the fun begins. 
Sometimes he passes over a red 
nose altogether, probably from 
a fear of aggravating the gout 
in his feet- I am a little more 


a\ from 



doubtful about the giraffe,. I should certainly have 
had a better opportunity of holding my head high 
in the world than I ever have now ; and the giraffe 
has the advantage of the bluebottle in the matter of 
gouty feet. But what a neck for mumps ! I think 
I must have been a raven or a jackdaw at some 
time — reasoning by induction — and I must 
have had a rare good time* The great 
object of a raven's life is the collection 
of valuables, wherein he resembles a 
large half of the human race. 
He steals rings T silver thimbles, 
and money, hoarding them m 
a safe and quiet place. Now, 
there is nothing so impartial as 
good Dame Nature, For every- 
thing she gives its compen- 
sation ; every poison has its anti- 
dote* every excess its counteracting 
scarcity ; nothing dies. Everything 
is a cause, and the effects of all causes 
work on for eternity. So that I conclude 
that my life as a raven must have been 
peculiarly successful from a business 
point of view, and that for that flood of 
good fortune I am now suffering the 
ebb. Obviously I must have been 
bursting with this world's wealth in 
some life or another t else why things 
as they so painfully are ? 
Or perhaps — stunning 
thought ! — I am saving 
up all this penury against 
a flood of millions to 
come But, come when it 
will, it shall never 
overwhelm me, for 
I shall take a holiday 
in a Scotch hotel, 

I quite believe 
I skipped the cro- 
codiles ; at any 
rate, I find little 
hereditary affinity 
between us- When 
a crocodile objects 
to its surroundings, 
it refuses its food ; 
as a boy at school, I ob* 
jetted verv much to my 
surroundings but without 
any effect of that sort. 
My late friend— God rest 
him ! — Mr. Jamrach, used 

by Google 

Original from 



to have rare tussles with his crocodiles. They were valuable as property, and when, out of 
spite, they took to attempting suicide by starvation, he had them tied up firmly and ftd 

forcibly with a long pole <i la ramrod. I never remember being 
so obstinate about my dinner as that ; and if I had, from what 
I recollect of him, I don't believe my worthy 
preceptor would have done as Mr. Jamrach did. I 
never heard of his using any stick 
in that way. Beyond all this, 
too, it should be observed that 
the crocodile has three distinct 
lids to each eye, whereby he 
is equipped for the perform- 
ance of six separate and 
entirely distinct winks of 
the single variety, and an 
incalculable number of 
the more compli- 
cated sort by com- 
binatiom Now the 
wink is the infalli- 
ble sign of a frivo- 
lous and larky 

claiming all relation- 
ship with the crocodile 
I need say no moru 
than this, 

I often wonder what 
these animals think of 
band which plays here in the 
summer. The coming of the 
warm season is a time of joy, at any rate 
to the more tropical varieties, and it seems 
a pity to make it sad with a band. Perhaps 
it is done on the great principle of universal 
compensation already spoken of. Not that 
the band isn't a good one, you should understand, 
but a band of any sort before dinner is an infliction, 

Music is rather a nuisance to a hungry man, and its proper occasion arrives after a good 
dinner. Lions and tigers have ten times the capacity for hunger granted to man, and 
should be considered accordingly. Herein do I speak with feeling ; for on several days 
of the week a German baud plays near the corner of my street in the hungriest hour of 
the twenty -four, and on all the other afternoons the young' lady next door, who is learning 




ay Google 


gin ar from 




to sing (and taking a very long timO 

nver it) practices her scales. I should 

like to have met that German band 

when I was — say a tiger, and very 

hungry. But the young lady who will 

never learn to sing is infinitely worse, and 

deserves no consideration at all. I should 

like an opportunity of attacking her 

as a mouse* 

Old Sir John Maundevile is a man 
one would like to have met. 
1 would do a great deal- 
even unto paying at the 
gate— to inspect a zoo- 
logical garden furnished 
with a good selection of 
Sir John's discoveries. I 
should like, for instance! 
to see his " wylde Gees, 
that han 2 Hedes," They 
are not found in many poultry-yards 
nowadays, and have become swans on 
inn signs. I should like, too, to see that Ai fulle 
felonous Best 1 ' with a black head and three 
long horns, '* trenchant in front, scharpe as a Sword,'' with which lie fc * sleethc the 
Olifaunt," Again, I think I should likt to sec those "Ipotaynes, that dwellen sonictyme 
in the AVatre and sornetymc on the Lond : and thei ben 
half Man and half Hors," and compare them with the 
blithesome hippopotamus as we now see him in our own 
Zoo. 1 should like to have the opinion of the man end 
on his equine hinder half, and to see how he walked ; for, 
unlike the centaur, the l4 ipotayne " had only two legs, I 
should like to get a " eokadrille y as Maundevile's book 
pictures him, with long legs and ears like a donkey's, and 
show him to the sleepy alligators in the reptile house, by 

way of reconciling long-sundered relatives, Rut most I should like to get my mutton 
from a tree in the way Sir John did in a kingdom "that men clepen Caldilhc M — some- 
where, it would seem, between India and China. On thSrJWiaWyGflt"" g° od friend, grows 


zic-zags at the 'zoo, 


a fruit " as though it were Gourdes " ; and 

in each of these gourds grows a l * iyttylle 

Lomb, with out en Wo lie," which 

Iamb, as well as the fruit, Sir 

John has eaten, "And that is a 

gret Marveylle,* 1 quoth Sir John ; 

and so it is, when you come to 

think of it. It is a pity that there 

was no wool on those "Lombs"; 

would have given the narrative 

a certain artistic completeness, a 

rounding off. But, since there was 

no wool, it is fortunate that Sir John 

distinctly said so, otherwise people 

might have called hi in a liar. 

jiefore the Zoological Society find 

specimens of these rarities, perhaps 

they may come upon another giraffe or 

two. .Sir John Maundevile 

really plays light with the 

giraffe. He might have 

^i\\ tlT^Ii \ ^^EiS^^^^^N I ^} made something much more 

startling of it than "a' Best 
pome lee or spotted j that is 
but a lily lie more highe 
than is a Stedc ; but he 
hathe the Nceke a 20 
Cubytes long ; and his 
Croup and his Tayl is as 
of an Hert ; and he may 
lokcn over a gret highe Hous. 1 ' Moreover, th^ illustrative woodcut in my copy 
actually uudcr-represents the neck by full two- thirds : but that is for the very best of all 
reasons — there is no room on the block for any more. Perhaps it was because Sir John 
vouched for the giraffe that up to the present century most people in this country 
disbelieved in its existence. But just consider how lie might have put it, and 
with truth ; and how that heavy-handed artist might have put it — without truth* 
An animal with a deer's head, a leopard's skin, a swan's neck ; a tongue that was used 
as a man's hand to grasp things a foot from its nose. With eyes that saw in every 
direction without a turn of the head ; with nostrils that closed or opened, 

Withal higher than 

three tall men, one 

above another, and 

capable of slaying 

a man with one 

kick of a hinder leg, 

yet so timid as to fly before a child or a little dog ! One feels rather ashamed of Sir 

John, after all, for neglecting his opportunities. There is difficulty in the capture of a 

giraffe, and there is expense. These obstacles, however, and greater ones, have been 

yvereuine again and again in time past by the Zoological Society of London, and 




probably giraffes soon will 
be seen litre again. They 
are becoming rare even 
in their own habitat, and an 
African hunt would be a long and 
trying one. However, a giraffe is still to 
be had, and the time is distant when we 
shall become dependent for the supply 

upon a forlornly possible 
shower. Fish, frogs, and 
in showers are not un- 
known, while eats and dogs 
are proverbial* Water- 
spouts t:ause these fish and 
frog showers; 

in a giraffe trans- 
action it would be 
necessary to charter rather 
a strong waterspout, and 
to stay indoors awhile ; 
all a serious possibility 
considered from a Maun- 
dcvillian standpoint. 

: - 

by Google 

Original from 

Shafts from an Eastern Quiver. 


By Chakles J. Mansford, BA. 


FANCY that Hassan ha* been 
drawing on his imagination 
again, old fellow, 1 ' said my 
companion , 
Frank Denviers, 
as we sat con- 
versing one evening at the 
door of our tent. 

" Perhaps so" I responded, 
puffing away at a hookah ; 
li he has his faults, like the 
rest of these Arabs. To 
appropriate every- 
thing that he can lay 
his brown paws on is, 
to him, a cardinal 
virtue ; still, he hasn't 
told us anything un- 
true so far, why 
should he do so now ? 

11 You have far too 
much faith in that 
n iBg er »" replied 
Frank ; " he pitches 
yarns to us that no 
one could possibly 
believe. We certainly 
expected him to steal, 
and, so far, he has 
come well up to the 
standard we measured 
him by, I own that 
his knowledge of the 
various ruins towhich 
he has led us is de- 
cidedly good ; no doubt this wonderful city 
that we are bound for does exist, but, as to 
the diamonds — don't you wish you may 
get them ! ,T And he shouted to Hassan, who 
wfis a little distance off reclining under the 
shade of a palm tree— 

44 Coffee, and hurry about it too ! " for 
the Arab was accustomed to take his time 
when disturbed from his siesta, although 
usually he was agile enough. 

Our Arab servant, or St nigger" as my 
companion sometime* termed him, had been 

engaged as a runner or letter carrier, until 
it chanced that we took him into our ser- 
vice on the recommendation of an Arab 
sheik. Frank Denviers and I, Harold 
Derwent, had been for some time wander- 
ing in Arabia, and already had been to most 
of the famous cities visited by Europeans, 
Previous to setting out on our present 
strange quest we had disguised ourselves 



as sheiks and secretly visited Mecca just as 
the haj\ or annual pilgrimage, was commenc- 
ing* For the whole time through which 
the fair lasted we found thousands of pil- 
grims who poured into Mecca from Persia, 
Arabia, Egypt, and Syria well worthy 01 
observation, as they came to be blessed at 
the birthplace of Mahomet, 

Hassan had been of great service to us 
in the sacred city, and his desire to con- 
tinue with us probably induced him to tell 



mar's Queen,*' when he received an inti- 
mation that we thought of returning to 
England, when his employment as our guide 
would, of course, cease. His features were 
bronzed with sun and exposure to the wind, 
so that he seemed even more swarthy than 
the rest of his tribe, while the spotless 
white turban which he invariably wore 
served to heighten the effect still further. 
Besides his experience, which had benefited 
us considerably in our travels, he was a 
man upon whom we could depend in time 
of danger, for his bravery had more than 
once been put to the test when our course 
lay through unsettled districts. Added to 
these qualities he had an admirable way of 
relating in his own language the various 
legends which are connected with many of 
the singular ruins which we visited. It was 
chiefly owing to this power that Frank 
came to the conclusion that the Arab was 
accustomed to mix fables and facts together 
until he was unable to distinguish between 

It was our custom when the day had de- 
clined to sit before our tent and listen to 
Hassan as he recounted some one of his 
numerous legends. While we drank our 
coffee the Arab would throw himself at full 
length upon the ground, and, resting his 
chin upon his crossed arms, look away 
dreamily into the distance. His voice then 
assumed a different tone ; he was no longer 
the servant of two Englishmen but a child 
of the East, and one who sometimes seemed 
to forget that we were present at all. 

It happened that one evening during our 
stay in Mecca, where, for the time being, 
we enjoyed the luxury of a roof other than 
that of our tent, a pilgrim passed by who 
differed considerably from any of those we 
had already seen. We were sitting at the 
door, and summoned Hassan to tell, if he 
could, the district from which the stranger 
came. Eyeing him closely, the Arab de- 
scribed him as one living in the neighbour- 
hood of Metra, a city of ruins, but which 
still possessed an absorbing interest for those 
who knew its history and what it contained. 

When Hassan had excited our curiosity 
sufficiently, he suddenly stopped, and asked 
when we intended to return to England. 
Hearing the time fixed upon, he made an 
expressive gesture, and replied — 

" Then the great secret of Metra will 
not be known to you. The city is twenty 
leagues from here, yet it is worth a visit ; 
aye, and more, it has that in it which would 
astonish the sahibs to see," 

44 Very likely," responded Frank ; " all 
these places you have taken us to have been 
surprising in their way, but one gets tired 
even of wonders." 

" The sahib is speaking true," responded 
Hassan, " but this wonder is the greatest of 
them all. The stranger, whom you have 
just noticed, knows well what is hidden in 
Metra, but he dare not venture thither for 
his life " 

" And you, Hassan," I interrupted, "have 
you seen this wonder of which you speak? " 
He gave a gesture of assent as he answered — 

" I have seen the city, but have not viewed 
its treasure ; no Arab could look upon 
"it and live, for, by the beard of Mahomet, if 
he ventured there, surely kismet would 
follow him in Shomar's name." 

" Well," said Frank, " if you want to 
persuade us to travel there, you had better 
tell us what the city does contain if you 
know ; I daresay, like all your yarns, it is 
strictly genuine, considered from the stand- 
ard of an Arab code of morals." 

That same evening Hassan related to us 
the legend, and the result of it was that we 
agreed not only to visit the city, but to give 
him a sum of gold if our enterprise proved 
successful, for he would not accept our offer 
of a share in the treasure. 

So matters stood, and our tent was at this 
time within a few miles of the city to which 
we were bound when the conversation be- 
tween Frank and myself took place as nar- 
rated. Hassan, when called, came slowly- 
forward and disappeared within the tent, 
soon afterwards reappearing with the bev- 
erage which he had been ordered to pre- 

u When will the sahibs be ready to visit 
the city of Metra?" Hassan asked, as he 
stood before us. 

" You say it is but three miles hence," 
said Frank, " and it now wants two hours 
to sunset ; I think we might venture there 
to-day." Then, eyeing the Arab, he 
asked — 

" Do you still declare that this treasure 
is to be found there, or is it, after all, one 
existing only in your own imagination ? " 

" The sahib is not ready of belief," re- 
plied the Arab, "but he will soon learn that 
I have spoken the truth." 

44 Rest there," said Frank, pointing to the 
ground just before our feet, "and repeat 
this story, that we may be able to judge of 
your sincerity." 

Hassan posed his body in the usual atti- 
tude which he assume^ on su^h occasions, 



and, while Frank and [listened to his nar- 
rative, to detect if possible any discrepan- 
cies, the Arab half spoke, half chanted 
to us the legend of "The Diamonds of 
Shomar 's Queen " as he had heard it from 
the inhabitants of the district around Metra. 


u In Arabia the Happy," began Hassan, 
u there ruled, more than two thousand 
years ago, a famous king named Shomar — ■* 

" A legend of the good old times, evi- 
dently, 1 * interrupted Frank, as he looked at 
the Arab with an incredulous air. 

" l Shomar," continued the narrator, li was 
powerful but he was not happy, for among 
the princes of his court was one who had 
great wealth and influence. He did not 
address the king in the humble tones which 
the rest of the courtiers adopted, and soon 
grew into disfavour. The ambassadors, 
who came at this time from the court of 
Persia, paid such marked deference to the 
prince that Shomar's jealousy was aroused, 
and he sought for some opportunity to free 
himself from this subject, whom he feared 
might one day seize upon his throne. Then 
arose a rumour that, in a distant part of 
Arabia, a revolt had arisen, and Shomar 
accused the prince of having instigated it. 
The latter hotly denied the charge, and, as 

11 1]] Kim WAS A CRY OF ' TREASON. 1 ' 

the king per-Uted in it, drew his sword as 
if about to attack the monarch as he sat on 
his throne. There w T as a cry of ' treason ! ' 
which rang through the palace, and in an- 
other minute the prince was vainly strug- 
gling with his monarch's bodyguard. 

" Shomar looked triumphantly at his sub- 
ject as the latter stood bound before him, a 
few days afterwards, to listen to the sentence 
which his offence was to receive. The king 
would gladly have ordered the executioner 
to bowstring the hateful subject, but he 
feared the effect of this upon the people. 
So the prince was sentenced to perpetual 
exile in a remote district, and threatened 
with death if he returned, Setting out 
with his wife and young daughter, together 
with a fevv faithful servants, the prince 
reached the place of his banishment, and 
for several years nothing more was heard 
of him, 

u One day a band of pilgrims passed 
through the king's territory, and one of 
them craved an audience of the monarch. 
He conveyed strange tidings to the king, 
for the exiled prince had founded a wonder- 
ful city, Metra, to which we arc bound ; " 
and the Arab paused for a moment. 

iC Go on, M said Frank ; u we are waiting 
to hear about these diamonds which you 
mentioned before," 

44 Patience ! » re- 
plied Hassan, ki vou 
shall hear. The 
prince, after wan- 
dering about for a 
year or so, deter- 
mined to build a 
city, but feared lest 
his monarch, hear- 
ing of it, should 
send a body of sol- 
diers afterwards to 
demolish the edi- 
fices. During his 
journeys he had 
passed more than 
once through a 
mighty ravine in 
the rocks, and a 
strange thought oc- 
curred to hi ni- He 
communicated his 
views to his com- 
panions in exile, and 
they agreed to his 
proposal. The rocks 
on each side of the 
Were cojn- 

Original fronjayi^ 


posed of a stone which resembled marble in 
its colour and hardness, yet they began to 
excavate It, and before long had hollowed 
out several caves for themselves. Then the 
prince —who was still wealthy— promised an 
enormous diamond to whoever would carve 
best a palace for him. Skilful men came, 
and, eager for the promised reward, laboured 
incessantly ; before long the ravine became 
a pathway on either side of which magnifi- 
cent marble palaces stretched one after 
another for over three miles, and the inhos- 
pitable place novv became a city more beauti- 
ful than poets have dreamed of. To own a 
palace in Metra became the height of a 
prince's ambition, and over them all the 
exiled one ruled. When he died his 
iJaughtcr t who had grown to be a beautiful 
woman, took her father's place and ruled 
as the Princess Idaliah " 

grew deeper and stronger as they became 
older, Her suitors hated the mountaineer, 
but were afraid to show this, so they planned 
how they might rid themselves of him. 
The pilgrim who conveyed the information 
to Shomar of the wonderful city arisen was 
sent by them. The king, on hearing of the 
beauty of Idaliah, determined to see her, 
and shortly afterwards visited her palace in 
disguise. If the princes admirfed her, the 
king did more ; he was infatuated, and, after 
trying in vain to win her love, made known 
his real Tank. Then said the princess, as 
she sat on her throne while the monarch 
flung himself in entreaty before her — 

"'Rise, I am but thy inferior ; it is not 
fitting that the great Shomar should wed 
with a subject, There are dark-eyed maidens 
at the Courts of Persia and the other 
neighbouring realms, there wilt thou find 
a princess of royal blood whom 
thou mayest thus honour ; ' and 
she stretched out her hand as if 
to raise the monarch from his 
lowly position. The latter caught 
it eagerly and pressed 
it to his lips, while a 
burning blush suf- 
fused the princess's 
features. Then she 
said humbly, with 
downcast eyes — 

"'Know, O King, 
that the love of 
Idaliah is already 

pledged ' 

To whom ? * 

"Who possessed 
these diamonds, I 
think you told us/' 
interposed Frank. 
The Arab seemed to 
scarcely notice the in- 
terruption, and went 
on — 

"So the princes who 
dwelt in the marble 
palaces of M etTa wooed 
the princess, but with- 
out success, for she 
them. During her childhood, while her 
father was still a wandering exile, she had 
come to know a young and hardv moun- 
taineer, and the friendship of childhood young mcffiriBiiwWtoifihoinar^ face grew 



secretly despised asked the monarch, rising and standing 
before the princess, furious at his own 
want of success. Then Idaliah told, with 
many a becoming blush and sigh, of the 



dark as the sttry was concluded, then he 
asked — - 

ikt And, if he lived not, wouldst thou 
accept the half of my throne ? ' The 
princess shook her head negatively as she 
replied — 

11 * I could not, for I would lament him 
many years ; my heart even tells me that, if 
evil befell him, I should die. T 

So the king de- 
parted from her 
presence, and 
plotted with the 
princes to take the 
mountaineer's life. 
Although Haifiz, 
as he was called, 
dared not pass 
through the 
ravine, because of 
his rivals, yet by 
stealth he would 
visit Idaliah. Lithe 
and active, he 
climbed down the 
rocky slope be- 
tween two of the 
palaces j a jutting 
piece of stone, the 
slight support of 
a young tree, any- 
thing that hecould 
grasp was suffi- 
cient for him, for 
was not this peri- 
lous pathway that 
which led to the 
palace where the 
light of love shone 
for him alone in 
the eyes of Ida* 
liah." Hassan 
paused for a mo- 
ment ; then his 
voice grew softer 
and his eyes moist 
as he sorrowfully continued — 

"Now the princess used to place a light 
in the window of the highest apartment of 
her palace, and the rivals of Haifiz discov- 
ered this signal to the lover that all was safe 
for his venture. They observed the way in 
which he had hitherto escaped their am- 
bushes, and at last had him in their power. 
One night Idaliah had placed the signal as 
usual and, sitting on her throne adorned 
with a magnificent diamond necklace, which 
had been given to her by her father, she 
waited for the well-known footsteps of her 


lover. He did not come, and an uneasy 
feeling filled the maiden's breast as frhe 
waited ; then a noise was heard of steps 
resounding on the marble palace floor, 

Four men entered, bearing a heavy bur- 
den, which they placed at the feet of the un* 
happy princess. A tree by which the lover 
was accustomed to swing himself from one 
ledge to another had been partly uprooted, 

for, on taking it 
in his hands, it 
gave way, and he 
fell headlong down 
the steep ravine t 
bruised and life- 
less ! So the body 
was sent for the 
princess to view, 
for the enemies of 
her lover rejoiced* 
in the success of 
their foul strata* 

"Idaliah looked 
at the mangled 
form for a mo* 
ment t then, sigh- 
ing deeply, was 
silent. So still *he 
sat, that at last the 
bearers of the bur- 
den attempted to 
arouse her. They 
started back in 
horror, for the 
princess was as 
pale and lifeless as 
her lover ! She 
seemed to have 
been turned to 
stone by the ter- 
rible shock. 

heard this, he was 
struck with sorrow 
at the effect of his 
callous plot. He commanded that the city 
should be deserted by its inhabitants, and 
vowed that the princess should bear his 
name in death, for although he lived many 
years after people spake of the dead princess 
alone as Shomar f s queen, The palace was 
left untouched ; no one dared to move the 
bodies of the dead lovers. The strangest 
part of the narrative is, that for all the time 
which has ensued the forms have not 
changed. Idaliah sits there to-day, and her 
lover lies at her feet, as if the two figures 
had been carved out t>f marble, When 



Shomar, years after, learnt this, he gave the 
palace into the charge of an old crone, 
upon whose death the duty passed into the 
hands of the oldest living female in her 
tribe — the same as that of the man concern- 
ing whose country you questioned me. 
Although this event happened, as you have 
been told, more than two thousand years 
ago, there is still an old crone who fulfils 
Shomar's command, and only opens the 
palace gate on receiving a certain signal. 
Sitting there is Idaliah, still wearing the 
necklace of diamonds, which no Arab may 
touch, for Shomar, although dead, yet 
haunts the palace, and prays the maiden's 
pardon for his crime. His curse would 
blight the one of my race who touched the 
sparkling stones: will ye, then, dare to 
venture thither to obtain them ? " 

Hassan rose and stood before us as he 
finished the legend. 

" Do you know this signal ?" I asked, 
endeavouring to speak calmly. The Arab 
answered in the affirmative, whereupon 
Frank remarked — 

" I will believe that the lovers still occupy 
the palace, and that the diamonds are there, 
when 1 see them ; " and he smiled at my 
faith in the truth of the Arab's story. 


At sunset we left our tent, and, following 
Hassan, journeyed in the direction of Metra. 
At last our guide stopped, and when we 
had joined him, he observed : 

" We are just about to enter the ravine. 
What plan is to be adopted in order that you 
may enter the palace we are seeking ? ' ' 

" You say that the gates are kept by one 
person only," I replied ; " surely if they are 
opened upon your giving the signal, we 
should have no difficulty in passing into 
the palace." 

"The sahib is mistaken,* responded 
Hassan, " for the gates are solid stone, and 
move by touching a spring within. It will 
be difficult for you : the crone will not 
suspect an Arab, but, on seeing two men 
of an unknown nation, she will have little 
confidence in you." 

"Then," interposed Frank, turning to 

On arnv- 

me, u our plan is easily settled, 
ing at these stone gates, Hassan may give 
the signal, and enter alone. He can learn 
from within the secret of the hidden spring ; 
this done he must find some way to escape 
the crone's observation, and so let us into 
the palace." 

* k The crone is exceedingly aged," said 

Hassan ; li if once we are all within there 
should be no difficulty in keeping her from 
doing harnv; but I would rather not remain 
in the palace while you obtain the treasure." 

" Yet," said Frank to me aside, " he has 
no objection to lead us to this place where 
the diamonds are said to be ! It is a strange 
scruple ; still, if he objects to remain with 
us, we will leave him outside, where he may 
be useful as a guard should anyone learn 
that we are plundering the palace." 

We plunged through a dense thicket ; 
on emerging we observed that the ravine 
then began and sloped gently. On we 
went, our faith in Hassan being strength- 
ened each minute as we saw the wonderful 
palaces carved out of the solid rock, and 
standing almost unaffected apparently by 
the length of time that had elapsed. Casu- 
ally resting my hand for a moment upon 
one of the chiselled doorways, I observed 
that it crumbled into dust as I did so. 
Hassan informed me that something which 
exhaled from the rock gave it an outward 
appearance of being hard and highly pol- 
ished, although in reality the substance was 

Passing along we at last reached a mag- 
nificent palace, and before it loomed 
gigantic marble gates. My hope that these 
were also decayed by age vanished, for, ou 
striking one of them with the hilt of my 
dagger, it gave forth a dull sound. We 
looked well to the condition of the pistols 
which were worn in our belts, and then 
motioned to Hassan to give the signal. 
Crouching behind a pillar, so that we could 
not be observed, we waited anxiously to see 
what would be, the result. The Arab had 
evidently learned the right signal to give, 
for suddenly the marble gates were raised 
like a portcullis, and a strange-looking 
being screamed rather than said to him : 

" Can ye not let Shomar's queen reign 
over the dead one in peace ? " She was in- 
deed aged ; her form was nearly doubled, 
her eyes, like small black beads, looked forth 
from a yellow shrunken face, while the hand 
which she raised almost threateningly at 
Hassan bore nails that seemed like the 
talons of some bird of prey. 

" I come from where once dwelt Shomar," 
said the Arab, then he stooped forward, and 
whispered something to her. The crone 
allowed him to pass, and before we could 
see more the gates fell instantaneously into 
their former position. It was fully ten 
minutes before they lifted again. In a 
sewnd Fr^kiiiftsflflfci parted through the? 




entry. Hassan was barely outside before 
the gates once more descended with a dull 
thud, and we were shut within the palace. 

"We are in for it, I expect/ 1 said Frank ; 
" there was no time to ask Hassan how 
these gates unfasten. Look at the old crone, 
she has discovered the trick ! T1 

It was an evil-looking face that peered 
into ours, and for a moment my hand 
wandered to where my dagger was placed. 
Frank pushed her aside, and strode on in 
the direction of the main apartment, 
according to the information which Hassan 
had given us of its whereabouts, I followed 
closely! the crone raising wild howls of rage 
as we went along, even throwing herself 
several times before us, and trying 
to bar our way with her distorted 
body. The palace seemed perfect ; 

IT WAS Ati tVt + i.0OKINCi FACE. 

not a stone nor a carving showed marks of 
age* There was an immense curtain of a 
material resembling purple velvet before us, 
We dragged it back upon the golden rods 
which supported it, and then stood still for 
a minute, completely astonished at what 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

Sumptuous furniture of the East filled 
the apartment. There were magnificent 
burnished mirrors hanging upon the walls, 
which themselves were a mass of minute 
carvings representing battle scenes and 
other events of those bygone years. The 
skins of many animals lay about the apart- 
ment, and in the centre of it stood the 
throne of the one who is known in the 
Arabic legends as Shomar's queen. 

A ray of light seemed to enter from 
above, and fell upon the throne, There, 
seated upon it, was a form whose loveliness 
seemed more than human. Her face, and 
bust , and snowy arms seemed as if carved 
out of the material of which the palace was 

constructed. Her 
robes were fitting 
for the rank which 
she had occupied in 
life, while at her feet 
lay the murdered 
form of her lover ! 
My heart beat vio- 
lently and I turned 
to my companion, 
as I said excitedly — 
f * Hassan has told 
us the truth ! Do 
you see them ? " and 
I pointed to the 
diamonds that 
flashed like stars 
around the neck of 
the princess* 

Frank was silent 
for a moment, then 
he answered — 

11 Who could 
have expected such 
a story to be true ? 
It seems like rob- 
bery to remove the 
diamonds, but they 
are useless to the 
dead, and to us 
mean an immense 

We passed up to 
the centre figures 
in the palace cham- 
ber. The crone 
guessed our intention, and, flinging her- 
self upon Frank, vented her fury upon 
him. He seized her, and, despite her 
struggles, held her fast as he called in 
me : — 

'* Quick ! get the diamonds, while I keep 
thjs hag a^HtfcffflffT -ff8¥n ' 



I stretched forth my hand nervously 
and clasped the diamonds. As I did so the 
form which wore them seemed to change, 
then suddenly it disappeared, and nothing 
but a small heap of dust was to be seen ! 
The perspiration stood in 
beads upon my forehead ; I 
turned to Frank to see if he 
had observed what had hap- 


pened, but he was still engaged in keeping 
the hag from attacking me, I drew off 
the silken sash which I wore and rolled 
the diamonds within it, as I said : 

**I have obtained them— quick ! to the 
gates! I am nearly suffocated in this close 
atmosphere. 1 ' 

He lifted the crone bodily into the air, 
and, holding her thus, passed with me to 
the entrance. Here she sullenly refused to 
show us the hidden spring, and, in spite of 
our threats, remained obdurate. It was 
some time before we could devise a way of 

escaping. At last I managed to scrape a hole 
in the side of the entry near the gates, and 
into this we thrust as many cartridges as 
we could spare. Breaking some of them 
open, I laid a small train, and, keeping as 

far away as pos- 
sible, managed to 
make a spark 
and thus to fire 

There was a tre- 
mendous explo- 
sion, which re- 
sounded through 
the empty palace, 
and to our joy a 
hole was blasted 
sufficiently large 
for a man to creep 
through. I pass- 
ed through it first, 
then Frank hurled 
the crone from 
him and followed 
me. We could 
hear her howls of 
disappointment at 
our escape t as 
Hassan rejoined 
us, who was elated 
at our success, 
and the know- 
ledge that the 
reward which we 
had promised him 
would soon be 
The diamonds were bought from us 
eventually by a syndicate of London mer- 
chants, the largest one of the stones alone 
being of more value than we had antici- 
pated the entire necklace of seventeen to be 
worth. The wearers of them, as they see 
the light sparkling from the gems, little 
suppose that they are adorned with the 
diamonds of Shomar's queen. 

We did not part with Hassan after all, for 
we decided to extend our travels eastward, 
owing to the success of this strange adven- 

by Google 

Original from 

The Evolution of the Cycle. 


O speak of the wonderful 
strides made in cycle con- 
struction within twenty years 
or so, to compare the modern 
racing, air-tyred t ball-bearing, 
tubular racing safety with the 
boneshaker of 1868, or the hobby-horse of 
1820 ; to rhapsodise 
upon the heights to 
which the mechan- 
ism of the cycle has 
now been carried, to 
speculate upon its 
future development 
— these things are 
common -places. Let 
us, while touching 
lightly upon the de- 
scent of the modern 
cycle in a direct line t — - 
chiefly amuse our- 
selves by content 
plating the various extinct species— those 
developments of the original germ which 
have somehow taken the wrong turning in 
the course of evolution, have then stopped, 
and, as rare fossils, arc now only looked at 
as rarities and curiosities, 

The records of the Patent Offices, both 
here and in America, contain drawings of 
many hundreds of these quaint articles , 
many — perhaps most — of which probably 
never grew beyond existence on paper. 
Also, there were gathered together last 
year 5 by the Stanley Bicycle Club, a quaint 
collection of actual existing fossil 5 —masses 
of machinery actually constructed and now 
forgotten, Of members of this collection, 
now dispersed, and never to come together 
again, we shall reproduce a number of 
photographs ; also avc shall reproduce many 
of the outline drawings buried in the 
Patent Office, with all their garnishment of 
indicator letters and figures, whether we 
allude to those wonderful signs or not. 

When the idea first took form of en- 
abling a man to travel by his own leg 
power, assisted by wheels, none can say ; nor 
is it known who first attempted to put the 
notion into practice. Certain it is that, in 
176 1, a description of a machine to travel 


without horses appeared in The Universal 
Magazine ; and since this machine — in- 
vented by one Ovenden— is alluded to as 
bl the best that has hitherto been invented," 
it b pretty obvious that Mr. Ovenden had 
his predecessors in this particular depart- 
ment of design, though of them we know 

little. Here is Mr, 
Ovenden's machine. 
The unfortunate 
footman (whose over- 
worked legs are mer- 
cifully hidden from 
sight iti a sort of 
tank), supporting 
himself by a strap, 
was expected to drive 
that immense wood- 
en carriage and its 
contents* 1 with ease" 
six miles an hour, 
and with 4( a peculiar 
exertion Tt (quite so) nine or ten miles an 
hour. The owner of the equipage, mean- 
time, gaily steered with a pair of reins. We 
hear nothing further of Mr. Ovenden and 
his machine* Can he have fallen a victim 
to a secret assassination committee of foot- 
men ? 

In 1804 a genius of the name of Bolton 
turned up in America, and invented another 
quaint engine. We reproduce his own 
drawing from the patent specification, indi- 
cator letters and all, so that his representa- 
tives may not accuse us of doing his work 
an injustice. We can justly admire the 


by Google 

foresight of the inventor in representing 
the unhappy operator in rolled -up shirt- 
Original from 



sleeves, for verily elbow grease would be 
called for in wholesale quantities. The 
knowing person who does the steer- 
ing smiles furtively at the reflection 
that he is coming out very much 
ahead in the matter of division of 
labour. But even with that, it will 
be observed t he has pulled his hat 
over his eyes as though rather 
ashamed of himself for so using a 
fellow-creature. As well he may 

After this came the hobby-horse. 
In 1808 this strange machine — two 
wheels, tandem fashion, connected 
by a bar — made its appearance in 
Paris. There were no means of 
steering this thing, so that presum- 
ably, when the rider, after straddling 
across the seat placed midway on 
the connecting-bar, and paddling 
furiously with his feet against the 
ground, arrived at a corner, he had 
to lift up the whole thing and 
it down again in a new direction. 

the machines in his club's historical collec- 
tion are used. 




These dandy* horses became all the rage r 
the coat-tails of our grandfathers and 
great-grandfathers fluttered bravely 
over the roads, and the striding legs 
of the same gentlemen beat up the 
dust north, south, east, and west. 
It became fashionable, as well as 
popular, and at the exhibition of 
the Stanley Club one was shown 
which had been the property of the 
great-grandfather of the present 
Duke of Marlborough, 

This ducal vehicle is appropriately 
rather a swell. It has an orna- 
mented brass fitting at the top uf 
the steering-socket, and an extra 
large cushion (albeit now burst out) 
upon which rested the ducal elbows. 
This was the production of a maker 
and patentee ot the nEiniruf Parker. 
Being fashionable, of course the 
craze was caricatured, and many 

some few years, this seems to have struck 
a genius as an inconvenience ; whereupon 
said genius proceeded to mount the front 
wheel, so that it might be turned, and, 
behold ! there emerged the dandy horse. 
A Mr. Dennis Johnson, who was a coach- 
maker, at 75 Long-acre, took out a patent 
for this dandy or hobby-horse in j 818, and 
we here reproduce a photograph of one of 
these very machines of Johnson's — still in 
existence, and represented as bestridden by 
Mr, L Dring, of the Stanley Club, by which 
gentleman's permission the photographs of 

by GoogFe 

Htm a Drawuv If] Q ^H^l i%&l"SkaD " 





spirited drawings by Rowlandsou and the 
Cruiek:>Iianks are now regarded as prized 
re Iks by cyclists of historical tastes. Out; 
of these drawings, which we reproduce, 
gives a good, although exaggerated, idea of 
the action of a rider of a dandy-horse at full 
speed. A Continental inventor, one Goru- 
pertz, came out with an improvement upon 
the ordinary hobby-horse, providing an 
auxiliary driving-power for the front wheel, 
A cogged wheel was fixed to the side of the 
front hub, and a sextant -shaped rack gear- 
ing with this and moved by a lever which 
was also used as a steering-handle, served to 
drive the wheel forward. 

The hobby-horse mania seems to have 
died out almost as suddenly as it came into 
being, and a period of blankness in cycle 
invention followed. A French patent of 
1830, granted to a M, Julien, relates to an 

juubn's machine. 

invention not very easy to comprehend. 
In the drawing it will be observed that the 
gentle soul in the chimney-pot hat works a 
sort of "everlasting staircase" (this being 
a slang term for the treadmill), by that 
means turning an immense wheel in front* 
A thing herein difficult to understand 
(although it really may be a hidden beauty) 
is the balancing and steering of this elegant 
instrument, the inventor having 
carefully refrained from finding 
anything, mischief or otherwise, 
for his victim's idle hand- t - d<>. 
Another difficultv is suggested by 
the back wheel, We quite appre- 
ciate >\L Julien's good intentions in 
providing a couple of spikes to 
prevent the whole arrangement 
running backward when proceeding 
uphill, but he seems to have for- 
gotten that some retarding effect to 
forward motion might be involved 
therein. Perhaps he found the 
thing so tremendously speedy that some- 
thing of a check was necessary.; or the con- 

trivance may have been intended to plough 

Later in the same year Messrs* Bramley 
and Parker, in England, went in lor some- 


thing comprehensive and elaborate, They 
have, at any rate, the honour of inventing 
the first tandem tricycle. In their drawing 
they omit the nearer hind wheel, whereby 
we have the advantage of a clear view of 
Mr. Parker (or is it Mr. Bramley?) working 
his best in a sort of swimming attitude. 
The more favoured partner (whose hat is 
really too large) steers by an arrangement 
obviously suggested by the rudder wheel of 
a ship, and drives by an arrangement more 
humbly derived from the travelling knife- 
grinder, The hinder gentleman obviously 
has not come out to admire the landscape, 
and it is to be hoped that his hat may never 
fall among all that mechanism, for its own 

In 1 83 1 Mr, Alexander Cochrane in- 
vented the first recorded road machine izt 
which the rowing motion was used. Several 
inventors since this time have devoted their 
ingenuity to adapting this motion to cycles, 
without any particular success. Why it is 
considered desirable to go out of the way 
to use an action obviously foreign to ani 
unsuitable for the road, is one of those 


things w'j^niP^I^-Prt-i-.^^ never be ex 






not so insane as many put forward in the 
early days, and it mav be seen that, with his 
long levers, he at least provides a great deal 
more effective power than other inventors of 
manumotors thought necessary. 

Some years after this (exactly 
how many is uncertain) Gavin 
Dalzell made his bicycle at Lesma- 
hagowjn Scotland, This machine 
has long been considered the first 
two-wheeled one-track vehicle in 
which the rider was placed clear 
of the ground and provided with 
a satisfactory driving and steering 
apparatus ; in fact, the first prac- 
ticable bicycle, as we now know it, 
and, stranger stilly the almost exact 
prototype of the latest pattern of 
rear-driving safety. But of late 
it has been found that another 
machine, on precisely the same 
principle, was made by Peter 
McMillan, also a Scotsman and a 
blacksmith, a little before Dalzell made his. 
Still, thsre seems no reason to suppose other 

tioiij and is here represented. It was of 
wood, with a Bath-chair steering apparatus, 
and the cranks were driven by levers hung 
from the fore part of the frame, by the 


than that these were separate inventions of 
the same thing, and that the whole business 
was a curious coincidence. DalzelFs original 
machine is yet in existence, much time- 
worn and worm-eaten, but in working 
order stilh The machine is chiefly of wood, 
with iron fittings and tyres. The rear 
wheel is 40 inches in diameter and the 
steerer 30 inches. It will be seen that the 
front fork slopes back just as does the front 
fork of a modern machine, and that the 
handles are curved back quite in the fashion- 
able mode of to-day. The rear wheel is 
driven by cranks and levers from single- 
barred pedals. The frame, heavy and clumsy 
as it is, is not unlike that of a lady's safety, 
The rabbit-hutch arrangement over the 
back wheel is a dress guard, This again, 
of another sort, is used on the lady's bicycle 
of to-day. 

One of the first of the crank-driven 
tricycles was shown in the Stanley tollec- 


steering-wheeL The pedals were of the 
shape of a boot -sole, like unto those of a 
sewing machine, and a hand lever was 
provided at the side to start the 
machine, and to supply extra power 
when necessary. The maker of this 
tricyle is not known, but it dates from 
about 1840. 

In j 86 1 an American, Mn Landis T 
patented what .seems to have been in- 
tended rather as a toy than as a vehicle. 
It consisted of a rocking-horse mounted 
upon a carriage set on wheels, the 
hinder end of the rocker being cranked 
to the back wheels in such a way that the 
rocking motion might turn the wheels. It 
is, however, described as a u velocipede T1 — 

1.AND15 MAtlilMi. 

the name at that time applied generally to 
any human-driven vehicle. 

Now weQftWB^fraflB era of the Bone- 




s-haker — that clamorous, rattling, wobbling 
two-wheeled truck which astonished the 

lalletuent's machine. 

world in the sixties. Pierre Lallement, a 
French mechanic, is considered to be the 
inventor of this T and, indeed, until the dis- 
covery of Dalzell's machine, was given the 
credit of inventing the balanced and crank- 
d riven bicycle altogether. Lallement was 
in the employ of M. Michaux, who made 
three- wheeled velocipedes and perambu- 
lators in Paris, Somewhere before 1864 
the design of the boneshaker sprang into 
being in the brain of the ingenious Lalle- 
ment, and the concrete result in solid wood 
and iron is familiar to most of us. There 
is another claim to having invented and 
ridden the cranked bicycle about this time 
on behalf of an Englishman named Phillips, 
but the evidence is weaker than that sup- 
porting the pretension of Lallement, of 
whose first dozen machines two were bought 
by residents in Ireland, Lallement was 
able to take out a patent for some part of 
his machine in America, and his drawing 
then presented we reproduce. The pedals, 
it will be seen, are weighted, to keep them 

right side up. One of these machines was 
shown at the Paris Exhibition of J 8 6 5 T and 
in 1869 their use was taught at Spencer's 
Gymnasium, in Goswell -road, London, 
Charles Dickens being for a short time one 
of Spencer's pupils. English makeis at 
once sprang up f and Beck, Stanley, Parfrey, 
Keen, and the Coventry Machinists 1 Com- 
pany were some of the first. The machine 
made by Beck in 1870, which we illustrate, 
was greatly improved, and considered at 
the time to represent the high- water mark 
of cycular invention* It was one of the 
first two or three bicycles fitted with india- 


rubber tyres, had an improved brake 
(worked by a string) and leg rest, and 
weighed — what do you think ? 
One hundred and fifty pounds ! 

Harking back a little, however, 
we find a delightful invention in 
America, 1868. To describe it 
would be an impossibility, where- 
fore we reproduce the inventor, 
Gleasun's, drawing. Here is an 
independent cyclist who carries 
with him not only his machine, 
but the road to ride on. Here is 
Mr. G lesson's own description : — 
u The object of this invention is 
to obtain locomotion by the direct 
application of the weight of the 
operator. An endless track, com- 
posed of the hinged parts C C C, 
as shown t loosely close each of the 
two wheels on a side, and are kept 




in proper position by means of the flanges B 
of the rolling wheels as shown. By this 
jiu^iis the track is laid in front of the 
wheels, and passes over from the rear of the 
same in an endless belt, as shown. The 
guide rails G are supported above the 
traction wheels by means of arms e } as 
shown, and prevent the jointed track from 
leaving the flanges/- It is a great thing to 
be able to have a smooth road everywhere, 
carrying it as a part of the baggage, but 
perhaps must of us will be contented to 
take the road as it comes on our bicycles 

as they are, thanking Mr. Gleason all the 
saint * 

In j 869 another American, Mr. Richard 
Hemming*, made an attempt in 
which he had both predecessors 
and followers. Many people have 
been struck wilh the notion ot 
using one big wheel only, the 
ec ntre being made open to contain 
the rider. It would be rash to 
guess at the number of patents 
taken i nit with this central idea, 
but all have been failures — few of 
the inventors even taking the 
trouble tC provide a means of 
steerage. Mr. Hemmiiigs' is one of 
Hiesc, His outer wheel, it will be 
seen, runs loosely upon the rollers 
of his inner framework. His feet 
hang in stirrups, and as he turns 
the wheel c the band G drives 
1 lie wheel B\ Whether the latter 
wheel drives the outer by friction 
or cogs, or whether it is intended 

to move the machine by continually im- 
pelling the weight forward is not quite 
clear, but there sits Mr, Hemrnings in the 
picture, and if it never became bis fate so 
to sit in the actual machine — well, perhaps 
it saved him a lot of trouble after alK 

ward's machine 

But Mr, T. W. Ward, of New York, pre- 
ferred to sit astride his one wheel. His 
ingenious dodge was to carry the forks be- 
low the bearings, and then to fasten weights 
whereby he might retain a dignified per- 
pendicular. But, in his enthusiasm, Mr. 
Ward omitted to consider what sort of 

by L^OOglC 





weights he would require, and what amount 
of them. If Mr. Ward weighed twelve 
stones he would want about a quarter of a 
ton, with the forks of the proportions 
shown. In these circumstances it is difficult 
to know whom less to envy, Mr. Ward or 
anv unlucky person he might run against. 

The first tricycle ever made to the design 
of the Rev, Mr, Charsley, who has given 
great attention to designing tricycles for the 
use of the lame, was made in 1869, and was 
hand-driven by cranks. " He that is down 
need fear no fall/' might have been Mr. 
Charsley's watchword in placing his rider, 
Still, quaint as the machine looks, it was the 
forerunner of the most successful hand- 



driven tricycle ever produced. It was 
steered by a movement of the back against 
the broad guard before the steering wheel, 

Another American distinguished himself 
in 1870 — Mr. Mey, of Buffalo. An idea cf 
his invention is best conveyed by his own 
draw iug. Here we see, doubtless, 
one of the original (i Buffalo 
gals' T in a smart trap, the motive 
power of which is a sort of magni- 
fied squirrel-cage, in which two 
wretched tl".^. are expected to 
gallop, and, in the inventor's words, 
*' will impart motion to the wheel 
and to the vehicle, as will be 
clearly understood/ 1 Mr, Mey 
thoughtfully provides a whip, and 
marks it with a big, big D, al- 
though a means of reaching the 
dogs with it when they are encased 
in the wheel ABC must form the 
subject of another invention — and 
a clever one, 

Still another American, a Mr. 
Croft, invented a fearful and won- 
derful engine in 1877. Really, it 
is not easy to believe that even a cycle 
inventor (and some of them are mad enough 

for anything) could perpetrate such a thing 
as late as 1E77, The rider, as the gentle 
reader may see for himself, was to punt 
himself along with a pair of poles— literally 
to punt along the public highway, steering 
meanwhile by means of his feet in stirrups. 
An idea of the fiery pace of this contrivance 
is skilfully expressed by the fluttering beard 
in the inventor's picture ; but, notwith- 
standing his liberal use of the alphabet in 
the diagram, we fear that Mr. Croft flatters 
himself, We would almost back the dogs 
against him, or M Julien. 

Soon the boneshaker became a bicycle 
with a tall front and a small back wheel, 
and the first effective attempt to cope with 
the danger from headers thereupon con- 
sequent was comprised in Singer's Safety, 
the invention of Mr. Lawson in 1878, The 
identical machine here represented was 






made for Vf* 

Rober yv$ 

...utit Sherbrooke— then Mr. 
PfflCWa rider of the 




original dandy-horse, is perhaps the 
oldest cyclist now alivt\ It was 
driven by cranks upon the hind 
wheel, actuated by pedals, bent 
levers, and connecting rods. With 
its great flopping back wheel and its 
small, sensitive steerer, the machine 
might have been more handy, but 
it was a sound machine in its safety 
principle, and well built. Its stable 
companion was the Challenge tri- 
cycle, almost identical in design, 
except that two steering wheels were 
used, turned by Blood's patent gear. 
This was the first tricycle made with 
wire wheels and rubber tyres* More 
than one inventor has built a bi- 
tricycle, a machine combining the 
faults of the two- and three-wheeler, 
with the advantages of neither. 

In 1880 a very novel bicycle — or dicycle, 
as some called it — was invented. This was 
the Otto, wherein 
two large wheels 
were placed side 
by side, both 
driven by cranks 
through endless 
metal bands. The 
rider sat above the 
centre of gravity, 
and his chief busi- 
ness in life was to 
guard his nose and 
the back of his 
head from the 
assault of the road- 
way. Steering 
was done by either 
hand, the driving 

band being loosened upon the inner 
side, whereupon the outer (driven) 
wheel turned upon the inner one. 
The Otto was a pretty invention, 
but it never succeeded as a machine 
for pace, 

One more American invention, 
and we have done. It is SchafFer's 
monocycle, and looks a terrible 
thing. The victim is entirely caged 
up inside the wheel, and what means 
of escape he could avail himself of in 
case of collision or bolting nobody 
but the inventor could tell us, and 
he doesn't, A large flap of the 
wheel and spokes, it seems, was to 
be removable to enable the victim 
to be inserted. It is a charming 


thing, and with all its index letters (which 
seem to have been sprinkled in from a 

pepper-box) has 
quite a learned 
and scientific 
appearance ; not- 
which, there is no 
record of its use 
upon the high- 
road. So that the 
high-road is a less 
dangerous place 
than it might be ? 
after all. 

With the highly 
finished machine 
of the present day 
our business does 


iginal from nat lie * 

■"Diversity of Michigan 

A Garden of Roses. 

By Harry How. 

T was a settled 
minds ot the 

thing in the 
villagers of 
Bracebridge that old Hollo- 
way was ^ all alone in the 
world/ 1 None came to visit 
him, and during the two 
years he had lived at Bracebridge he had 
never been absent from home for a day. 
His declining years — for he was well past 
the sixties — denied him recreation, though 
nn wet days he would occasionally put his 
mackintosh over his shoulders and perch 
himself beside the pool — for which Brace- 
bridge was famous — and patiently watch 
the float for hours at a time. It is probable, 
however, that had it been sunshine every 
day of the year the fish would have been 
minus one enemy. For the sunshine brought 
the children out to play, the sunshine al- 
lowed him to walk in the paths of his garden 
and watch the growth of his roses. On wet 
days he had neither children nor flowers, so 
he went to the fish for consolation* 

old mans roses, 
p&thwmy, for all 
sentries, as their 
them to the porch. 


Old Holloway had two sources of happi- 
ness. His tiny cottage was known as 
fcl Rose Glen." If you ever went to Brace- 
bridge you would never dream of going 
away without looking over the wicket gate 
and inhaling the sweet perFume of the 
They lined the gravel 
the world like floral 
owner passed between 
Rose-trees were every- 
where, and every single blossom was as 
familiar to him as the seals on his watch 
chain, and he patiently followed the pro- 
gress of each petal and the unfolding of 
every bud with as much pride and care as 
he would that of the growth of his own 
child. Yes, the flowers brought old Hol- 
loway happiness. 

But he loved the children more. He once 
said that, when their tiny faces were look- 
ing up at him and smiling, they, too, were 
flowers. Every child in Bracebridge knew 
old Holloway, They called him grand- 
father. You never 
met him in the 
lanes without a 
child hanging to 
his hand or his 
coat-tails. Why, 
the dear old fel- 
low would make 
a point of passing 
by the school just 
when the chil- 
dren were coming 
out. Then he 
would let them 
play on the grass 
of his garden. 
Let them ? Nay, 
he would play 
with them, and 
his laughter 
seemed as free as 
theirs, his shouts 
of merriment as 
joyously inno- 
cent. Then when 
the sun began to 
edge the hills 
n with gold and 




crimson, he would merrily drive them out 
of his floral domains, and watch them wave 
their hands as they turned the pathway at 
the top of the hill which led to the village. 
As he retraced his ste;.s to the porch he 
would sometimes stand beside a tree of 
roses — great crimson blossoms — more beau- 
tiful than all the others. Their colour 
was richer than the sweetest of the blos- 
soms on the neighbouring bushes, their 
perfume more fragrant. It grew apart 
from them, too, on the lawn. He would 
look at the name on the wooden tablet and 
read the simple word, u Marion." That was 
the name he had given to his favourite tree 
— u Marion *' ; and murmuring the word he 
would enter the house very quietly. 

One evening the children had all gone 
— he had bid them ^good-bye '* as usual. 
He turned to enter the house. A whole 
week had passed since he had examined 
hi- favourite rose-tree. Crossing the grassy 
lawn he came tn "the Marion/' One of 
the great blossoms was drooping, but just 
from ytiQ same green stalk a fresh bud was 
shooting forth. The old man took 
out his knife and cut off the faded 
flower. He looked at the bud thought- 
fully. He seemed to read a story 
amongst the roses — a story that went 
to his heart* He looked again at the 
dead blossom in his hand. Then his 
eye wandered towards the bud, 
IIl: burst into tears, and quickly 
turned away. 

41 My daughter, my darling 
Marion ! I was cruel to send you 
away, very cruel, A father's 
love for you made me think 
it impossible for even a 
husband to love you as I 
did. Shall I ever see you 
again, or shall I see you 
dead — dead as this once 
beau t ifu 1 blossom , which 
can never again help to 
sweeten my days and 
brighten an old man\ life? 
Oh, come back to life again, 
and bring your little one 
with you. Conic —come — 
en me ! " 

He entered the house 

It was the morning of 
the next day, and the chil- 
dren were on their way to 
school. They always passed 

"Rose Glen/ 1 and old Holloway would 
invariably be at the gate. But this 
morning the children seemed more ex- 
cited than usual ; something had evi- 
dently happened, or was about to hap- 
pen, which made their little hearts beat 
faster than ever. They had started earlier 
than was their wont, for somehow they had 
got to know that it was "Grandfather's" 
birthday, and each wanted to be there first. 
On, on they went, laughing, shouting, and 
clapping thdr hands in delight. What 
was there to stop the happy ripple of their 
little tongues? It would seem — nothing. 


They were children — little 

children— and were as freL' as 

frtHP*JiftBi*hich wc: j singing 




in the trees and on the hedgerows about 
them. But, as they turned the road 
at the top of the hill which led down to 
the home of the roses, their laughter 
became silent, and their lip* ceased to 
move. They gathered together In a bunch, 
not in affright, but more in childish sym- 
pathy at the sight before them. A woman 
sat on a grassy mound. Her face was pale, 
her cheeks pinched, her eyes looked as 
though they had shed many 

tears ; but yet how pretty she 

She was dressed all in 
-there was crape on her 


cloak and bonnet. She held 
something muffled up in her 
arms. The children looked, 
and guessed it was a baby* The 
woman smiled, and seemed to 
invite them to come nearer. 
Then one of the children gave 
the woman some flowers, and 
a Hush of happiness came into 
her poor wan face, 

11 Would you 
like to see my 
little boy?" 
she asked. 
And all the 
children ga- 
thered round 
whilst the 
mother drew 
aside the scarf 
from round 
her baby's 
neck, so that 
they might see 
it the better. 
It ^ too t had 
tiny black 
hows on its 
little hat. 

"Gh, how 
would love to 
see him!" 
cried one of 
I he children. 
" May we take 

him to grandfather ? It's his birthday to- 
day. It would make him so happy." 

" And who is grandfather ? M she asked. 

"You don't live here, do you? 11 ques- 
tioned one of the youngster?. 

M No," the woman answered, li I am quite 
a stranger here. But why do you ask ? " 

ik Because you don't know grandfather," 
came the logical reply, 

" Well, tell me who he is," 
Then one of the children took the woman 
by the hand, and led her to the corner from 
whence the hill started towards the spot 
where the roses grew. The cottage was 
pointed out to her, 

u That's Rose Glen/' the child said, 
"Yes, I can smell the ro=es here. Oh, 
how sweet ! 1T the woman murmured, look- 
ing at the cottage. 

where he 
lives," the 
little one went 

"Yes," said 
child older 




— - - ^+/S 

thai 3 iffmr GLRIf 


The woman 
gave a wild 
scream, which 
almost made 
the children 
run from her 
in d i s m a y. 
She had nearly 
fallen to the 
ground. But 
she was her- 
self in a 

"Oh : my 
children, my 
children,'* she 
cried pitifully, 
"don't turn 
from me — 
don't be fright- 
ened — don't 
be afraid of 
ni e ! I love 
you every one. 
Come nearer 
to me. Oh ! 
come nearer 
to me. That's 
right. I love 
you every qhl\ 
I know — I know it is his birthday to- 
day* And would he — would he love to 
see my little one* would it make him 
happy ? Do you think he would ki^s it 
just as he does you, and give it a smile 
the same as he gives you ? Would he 
take it in his arms like the tiniest uf 
you ? " 
She had i&flfflfc! ftpjfathy of t he children 




about her, and they all cried out, " Yes, yes, 
let us take it to him. 1 ' 

A wild gladness overspread her face. Her 
lips quivered, her eyes sparkled* Some 
sudden resolve had come to her. She drew 
her hand nervously across her eyes ; then, 
turning to the little ones about her quickly, 
she asked — 

11 And if I let you take my child, to him 
— what will you do ? " 

They were quiet for a moment. Then 
the elder child, who had spoken before, 
said : 

M 1 will carry him ever so careful. You 
can come too/' 

" I can come, too/* she murmured ; " I 
can come, too ! ,J 

Silently she placed her baby in the little 
girl's arms. The children trooped down 
the hill towards the house, the woman fol- 
lowing them with hesitating steps. The 
children had 
reached the cot- 
tage gate, and the 
woman stayed 
without, looking 
through the hedge- 
row, and watching 
her little one with 
anxious care. One 
of the children, 
carrying the baby 
in her arms, crossed 
the lawn towards 
old Holloway's 
favourite rose -tree, 
tl Marion, 1 ' There 
was just room for 
the child to stand 
beneath the grvat 
covering of green 
leaves and flowers * 
Then the other 
children ran to the 
porch. They cried 
out, " Grandfather ! 
grandfather [ Many 
happy returns of 
the day ! many 
happy returns of 
the day!" 

The old man 
heard their voices 
and came to the 
door. How those 
children danced 
and shouted! Thev got hold 
of both of his hands and his 
goat, and, with merry laughter, 

' £ oyV*OOgle 

pulled him across the laun to his favourite 
tree. Then every little tongue became 
still, as though waiting for him to speak. 
He looked at the picture before him. There, 
beneath the cover of blossoms, stood a little 
girl, looking up at hirn with a face lit up 
with smiles. She held out to him a baby. 
Scarcely knowing what he did he took the 
child from her arms into his own, and 
covered its tiny face with kisses. He looked 
round about him, not knowing what to do 
or whither to turn, but his lips were mutter- 
ing one name. 

Again the children took hold of him 
and pulled him along the path towards 
the wicket gate. They opened it, and the 
woman was still standing there, her pale 
face now flushed, her once dim eyes 
brighter still. 

11 Marion ! Marion ! " the old man cried. 


fell on 

his shoulder, 



with her arms 
just then the 

rang out, and away the 

children ran up the hill, their voices 
shouting all the way, (l Many happy 
returns of the day, grandfather ! 
many happy returns of the day 

The old man, caressing the child 
as he carried it close to his brta^t, 
with his daugh- 
ter's arms still 
clinging to his 
neck, walked 
up the path- 
way, The 

bud on the rose-tree seemed to peep out 
from all the other crimson blossoms. They 
entered the house together, 


Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 


1 LEW, son of the late Rev* J. C. 
AyS&§ v M Bellew, was born whilst his 
o^tf^L^ father was chaplain of the cathe- 
dral in Calcutta, and first came 
to England as an infant during the great 
Indian Mutiny. His childhood was spent 
in London p when his father was appointed 
Rector of St. Mark's Church, St. John's 
Wood. He was educated for the army, but 
subsequently chose the sea as a profession, 

y>'%\itt li I'juttv. t>!j\ 

[ll Hyatt. 

and was duly entered on board H.M.S. 
Come a/. His advancement was rapid, but 
the prospects for the future not seeming 
sufficiently remunerative, Mr, Bellew left 
the sea and sought fortune in Australia, 
where, for four years, he enjoyed varying 
luck as a gold digger, a cattle drover, a 
journalist, and various other vocations. Mr. 
Bellow's first appearance iu public took place 
in Melbourne as the reader of a lecture on 
the Franco-Prussian War. At his father's 
death he determined to revisit England, 
and shipped as second officer of a large 
passenger liner for London, when he was 

paid off from the ship and joined a pro- 
vincial company, with which he stayed three 
months, playing the light comedy and 
juvenile lead. A performance of his in 
M Led Astray *' induced the author, Dion 
Boucicault, to telegraph to Mr. Bellew to 
come to London j which he did, and was at 

/Vtfui a) 


once engaged by Mr. Buckstone for the 
Haymarket Theatre, since which time his 
brilliant career is known to every playgoer. 
Mr, Bellew is one of a family of four 
children, and is unmarried. 

uri g iira&bi*io&> + [^awi*. 



■ . 

— - ! 

L nJi^ Jh 


AGE 3. in&vnerrwtinm. 


Born 1858. 

ILLIAM GUNN, r/ho has now 
been fur more than ten years one 
of the most conspicuous figures 
in the world of cricket, was born 
at Nottingham, and first played 
for his county on June 3, 1880, against 

/'f%«H a t*fiGlQ r fyj AGE I-4-p [iJgfffrW J: .S^PI^ A'otliat/fittrih 

Surrey, on which occasion he displayed a 
promise which has since been wonderfully 
iulfilled. Since that time he has risen to 
the proud position of being one of the two 
best professional bats in England. Last 
year he took the prize oflVred by lYf-Btte 

Fmm a /'■.'..■■ h$] 

ACF. 2f. [A. W. Crti-, XotliXQham. 

for the highest batting average, Gunn is 
6 ft. 2 J in. in height, and his great reach is, 
of course, of considerable advantage to him. 
His hitting, especially on the off-side, is very 

/Vr»Ftt a I'ttirto. ty] 

At;i- jj, 

[ tSt'dltthatr , ftrit-titnlf. 

clean, and, when once *ct. he scores fast, and 
he is an excellent field, lie ha>. also attained 
Internal ienrJ hfVUMsrt" in Association foot- 




BURY was 

born at 
New Lin- 
ton, near Notting- 
ham, where his father 
was then engaged in 
business. Some of his 
first cricket was played 
with the Nottingham 
Meadow Willow Club, 
but hi* progress was 
so rapid that he was 
only sixteen when 
f elected to play for 
the Colts against the 
County, in which he 
came out with the 
top score of 35, made 
against some of the 
best bowling in Eng- 
land, for which feat 
he received a prize 
bat. He first played 

for the County at nine- 
teen, the age at which 
he is represented in the 
second of our portraits, 
and the year following 
represented the Players v. 
Gentlemen, and scored 
his first century (118) for 
his county, against York- 
shire. To speak in detail 
of his great achievements 
since that date would 
require many pages* It 
must here suffice to men- 
tion his enormous score 
of 224, not oiit, against 
Middlesex in 1885 ; his 
267 against the same 
county in 1887 (when he 
was of the age at which 
he is depicted in tin- third 

f V- ni 

AGS jfi 

of our portraits), for which 
he was at the wickets 
\o} hours without giving 
a chance ; and his unri- 
valled scoring against Aus- 
tralian elevens on many 
well-remembered fields. It 
is almost superfluous to 
add that in brilliancy of 
vk Shrewsbury has 
very few equals, and no 
superior. He is in part- 
nership with Alfred Shaw, 
as a cricket out Utter, at 

\ ffawklnt it CU, nrijhj^ j p^pjtj^ghairL 





ACE 19, 


Born 1837. 

ORD HERSCHELL, whose great 
abilities gained for him the 
unique honour of being a Q.C. 
at thirty-five and Lord Chancellor 
at forty-eight, is the son of the 
late Rev, Ridley Herschell> and was edu- 
cated at Bonn and at University College, 
London. After a most brilliant career at 
the bar. Lord Herschell, then Mr. Farrer 
Herschdl, was elected for Durham, was 
Solicitor-General from 1880 to 1885, and in 

Frum a I'kattt. ty] 

AGE- 3S- 

[Window t£ <?™m. 

1S86 was raised to the Woolsack, and created 
Baron HerschelL He is an ardent sup- 
porter of Mr, Gladstone* 

1 a Pkfm ty 

A „ E ,,. .^ 

Mtt ■ 

Fnm a Photo* &r>- i I n d Add ,: J8 

[M*?L ffi/*«q»t? r 




very early age, but simply for the joy of 
writing, everything she wrote before the 
age of twenty being burnt as soon as written, 
unseen by any eye except her own. It was 
not until four years after her marriage, in 
i86q» to Mr. Alfred Saunders Walford that 
44 Mr. Smith u was written- The beauty of 
the book — and T indeed, *' Mr, Smith T? is 
quite unique in its own line — struck 
the public strongly, and its writer 
started on the long career of popu- 
larity which has ever since continued 
to increase, Her 
home, C ran br coke 
Hall, in Essex', is 
one of those de- 
lightful old places 
which combine the 
rest and retirement 
of the country with 
every facility for 
taking part in the 
busy life of the 

AGE 35. 
rrvtn a Photo, ftp G\ IP. 

HVfrafrr. t'tienttr. 

Alii: 21. 
am a Photo, bp it' Trite, O'ta^gw 

AGE 3. 



RS, WALFORD, whose full 
name is Lucy Bethia Walford, 
the popular author of "Mr. 
Smith," "The Baby's Grand- 
mother," u The Mischief of 
Monica/' and many other novels known to 
every reader, is the daughter of the second 
son of Sir James Colquhoun of Luss T tenth 
Baronet of the name and author of a book 
well known to sportsmen, (i The Moor and 
the Loch," who married Miss Frances 
Fuller-Mai tland, a lady of marked literary 
gifts. Mrs, Walford began to write at a 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 


front ft Photo, fry jVujmU d £«w, tiaktr~*rect* Wt 

Original from 

4 6 


/■'rum a J'aifitinv) AGE tf, [by hi* Father. 

* rum a fi 

AUB at- ['*- ^- Jf«*rG"T*F- Cfet/onJ. 


Born 1S40, 

in London of French descent, his 
father being Mr, W. Riviere, who 

t^^V^Ltj was for nine years head of the 
drawing school at Cheltenham, and after- 

wards a teacher of drawing at Oxford, and 
who gave his son a careful and able train- 
ing. While living at Oxford Mr, Briton 
Riviere entered as an undergraduate, and 
look his B.A. degree in 1867. But he was 

f>ipj» a Phtfto by] 

AGE 3?. 

{FradtUt rf XariAalL 

only eighteen when his first picture, M Sheep 
on the Cotswolds," was hung in the Royal 
Academy ; since which time his pictures, 
dramatic and impressive, sometimes humor* 
uus and sometimes pathetic* and especially 
strong in the treatment of wild animals, 
have become known to all the world. 




BoiiN 1803 ; Died 1870. 


whose works we are indebted for 
a striking story in our last num- 
ber, and for another in the pre- 
sent issue, was, if we except Sir 
Walter Scott, the greatest writer of romance 
who ever lived. And his life was as roman- 
tic as his books. His grandmother was a 
negress, and his father, General Duma* — a 
dashing officer whom Napoleon left to die 
in prison — had the appearance of a negro- 
Alexandre was born at Villers-Cotterets, 
but at twenty came lo Parts to seek his 
fortune, and began life as a copying-clerk \ 

From a PaixtiMp by] A ^e 30, 

[Kuycnc isiruud. 

but in 1828 his play/ 1 Henry IIL," took 
the town by storm . He threw himself 
with ardour into the Revolution of July, 
made an expedition to Soissons, and cap- 
tured, almost single-handed, a powder- 
magazine, a general, and several officers. 
In 1S44 u Monte Cristo" appeared in the 
columns of a newspaper, and caused more 
universal interest than any romance since 
u Robinson Crusoe ' T or " Wavedey-' 1 Then 
followed u The Three Mousqucteers, +? which, 
with its sequels, contained his best work, 
except u La Reine Margot, 1 ' the finest of 
them alL With the help of assistants, 
Dumas then began to put forth novels at 
the rate of fifty or sixty in one year — his 
works are said to reach 2,000 volumes— 
and he made large sums of money, which 
he spent as fast as he earned them ; so 

that in his old age he was reduced to 
the strangest devices to maintain himself, 
writing puffs for tradesmen, and even exhi- 

FVoM a fainting %] 

A',..v 51. 


biting himself in shop-windows. Even in 
the little stories which we have adapted 
there are manifested many of the eharac- 

Irram a FhoUi. fry] 

age 65, 


teristics in which Dumas never had a 
superior — the never- flagging spirit of the 
narrative, the dramatic situations, the air 
of nature, and the colour of romance 


The Raising of the "Utopia!" 

N the black and stormy night 
of March 17, 1891, Her 
Majesty's armour-clad war- 
ship Amnn came into collision 
with the Anchor liner Utopia 
in the Bay of Gibraltar, the 
latter vessel passing too close to the war- 
ship'* bows, and receiving her ram almost 
amidships. The horrible sights and sounds 
of that night have already been the matter 
of many newspaper reports, and our present 
business is to show how the fabric of the 
sunken vessel was recovered. Suffice it, 
then , to say that nearly one thousand 
persons, including many Italian emigrants, 
were on the Utopia at the time of the 
disaster, and that of these some six hundred 
met their deaths. The remainder owed 
their rescue to the prompt devotion of the 
crews of the ships of the Mediterranean 
squadron fortunately near- 

The Utopia was struck rather aft of amid- 
ships, and consequently sank stern first. 
Our illustration is from a sketch by an eye- 
witness, In the position shown she "re- 
mained for a very few minutes after the 
collision, and then sank entirely with her 
six hundred- 

The morning of the next day broke on a 
serene calm, and the masts and funnel of 
the Utopia were all to be seen of that vessel 
iibove the water of the Bay of Gibraltar. 

Divers descended, and the greater number 
ol the dead bodies were recovered and 
buried ashore. It was then discovered that 
I he ship lay in full 56 ft. of water at stern and 


in 43 ft, at bows, and the problem of raising 
her began to be considered. Mauv schemes 
and suggestions were submitted to the 
owners, and a famous Continental salvage 
company offered to undertake the work — 
the remainder of the year to be occupied 
in preparations, and the wreck to be raised 
in 1802, no guarantee, at any rate, being 
^iven that the business would be completed 
before. Ultimately the matter was placed 
in the hands of Mn Thomas Napier Armit, 
manager of the East Coast Salvage Com- 
pany, of Leith, a salvage engineer with a 
reputation at the time second to none, and 
now considerably enhanced by his perfect 
success in this case, Mr. Armit performed 
the entire business in two months, 

Here was his plan ; not a wholly original 
plan, be it understood ; nevertheless a plan 
first successfully applied by Mr. Armit in 
1875 in the Bay of Panama, and subse- 
quently used in the case of the Orient steamer 
Austral ', which &ank in Sydney harbour ; 
moreover, a plan much modified and im- 
proved in many important particulars for 
this particular case ; so much modified 
and improved, in fact, as to become a new 
departure in wreck -raising. 

A great superstructure was erected upon 
the hull of the sunken ship, in a manner 
clearly shown in the accompanying sketches. 
Practically speaking, a false bulwark wan 
built above the bulwarks of the ship, so 
high as to rise above the surface of the 
water. This, of course, had to be strongly 
and scientifically s^iycd, to resist the sea 





currents and the wind. The broadside 
view gives an idea of this superstructure 
seen sideways (as well as of the position of 
the hole made by the Anson), and the sec* 
tion clearly explains the system of internal 
struts and shores. The method of attach- 
ing this superstructure was new, simple, 
quick, and ingenious, rendering unnecessary 
all boring and 
drilling by the 
divers. In the 
case of the 
Austral, boring 
and drilling was 
avoided by taking 
advantage of the 
side-light holes to 

fix the first of the raising framework. This, 
however, was a far more laborious and 
clumsy expedient than that here adopted, 
in which the gunwale logs t as the founda- 
tion timbers of the superstructure were 
called, having been lowered into position, 
were damped to the vessel's bulwarks with 
just such clamps — much larger and stouter, 
of course — as are used by joiners. Thus a 
little screwwig-up was all the work necessary 
for the divers in fixing the gunwale logs. 

The superstructure itself had been 
planned and prepared by Mr. Armit, at 
Glasgow, in ten days, and this without a 
sight of the wreck, and entirely upon tele- 
graphic information. The strain imposed 
upon this superstructure during its erection 
by the various sea-currents and the strong 
south-westerly winds setting directly into 
the Bay, may readily be imagined. It is 
sufficiently wonderful that such strains 
should be resisted by the completed fabric, 
but that they should do no damage to it while 

io an incomplete 
and, so to speak, 
tentative state, 
is wonderful in- 
deed. We repro- 
duce a photo- 
graph showing 
the completed 
structure — a pic- 
ture which gives, 
moreover, a capi- 
tal idea of the 
situation of the 
sunken ship off 
Gibraltar town, 
and of the diving 
and other opera- 
tions in progress 
at the time. 
Next, the great breach made by the ram 
of the Anson had to be dealt with. This 
was an appalling hole, 26 ft. long by 15 ft. 
wide, torn through iron plates, frames, 
parts of the engines, and a transverse iron 
bulkhead — and all without the slightest 
damage to the ram which caused it ! Truly 
a great illustration of the power of the ram, 

that old weapon 
of our fathers, 
the Vikings, now 
made modern. 

The loweT 

edge of this great 

breach was in 52 

broadside- ft, of water, and 

the divers set to 
work to cover up the hole with oak planks 
secured with screw bolts. This they did so 
efficiently that the patch was not only per- 
fectly watertight for the remainder of the 
time spent in the operations, but was left 
without docking or any further attention 
during the voyage to the Clyde shipbuilding 

yard ! The divers who accomplished this 



iltf*»€8>£Z^- ^ 


The sides of the great superstructure, it 
must be understood, were covered with ver- 
tical oak planks 6 in* thick. These were 
now covered with canvas to prevent leakage, 
and the actual raising was ready to begin. 

Now, consider the position of affairs. 

Here was the vessel, sunk, in the lowest part, 
in nearly 57 ft. of water and with a slight 
list (of twenty degrees) to one side. The 
breach in her hull had been stopped, and a 
great temporary bulwark, 24 ft. high at 
the stern and 13 ft- high at the bow t had 





been erected upon her, thus making the 
hull so much higher, and bringing the level 
of the scaffolding and false deck above the 
water. Upon this superstructure pumps 
were erected, capable of pumping 70 tons a 

All being ready, the pumps were set to 
work, pumping the water out of the area 
enclosed by the ship and its superstructure 
and casting it over into the sea. This was 
begun at seven in the morning of July 8, 
and the pumps had been going fully an hour 
before any movement was observable. The 
morning was a fine one, and the bay was 

became visible from the scaffolding, the ship 
was slowly towed in toward the *hore. A 
view of some pans of the superstructure 
at about this time is represented in the 
photograph reproduced. 

At eleven o'clock a strong wind sprang 
up, and pumping had to be suspended for 
a while, It was resumed, however, and by 
the end of the day the Utopia had been 
raised from a depth of 57 ft, of water to one 
of 38 ft. only. 

After this the superstructure (which was 
310 ft. long) was taken down, and the 
pumps were transferred to the deck. A 


crowded by all sorts of craft filled with 
sightseers, crowds of whom also occupied 
every available view-point on shore. When, 
soon after eight o'clock, it was seen that the 
vessel had righted from her list, and that 
her masts were upright once more, much 
enthusiasm was manifested. Then after 
some 3,500 tons displacement had been 
effected by the pumps* the ship, with its 
great superstructure, slowly began to ri^e. 

The stern lifted first, and, by ten o'clock 
was 9 ft. above the water. Then the bows 
began to rise, being slowly dragged from 
the soft bottom in which they were im- 
bedded. Now, as the water left the interior, 
and, with the rise of the vessel, the decks 

photograph, which we reproduce well 
represents a scene on the deck at this stage 
of the operations, a winch and cable-chain 
clogged with weed and rust, and the tem- 
porarv structure in course of taking down. 

With the pumps on the deck then, the 
Utopia was entirely pumped out, and was 
towed into shallow water and beached on a 
suitable shoal for clearing out. The decks, 
and such of the inside of the vessel as was 
visible from them, presented an extraordi- 
nary and weird spectacle. It was at first 
impossible to descend into the lower parts, 
wltere lay many dead bodies, on account 
of the deadly gas generated by these and 




water was again admitted, and the interior 
thoroughly flushed out. Then the dead 
bodies and the putrid cargo were removed 
— a dangerous as well as an unutterably 
repulsive task. Thirty -three bodies in all 
were found below, presenting many sights 
too hideous for description. These were 
buried in the middle of the Straits. 

The last piece of the superstructure taken 
down was that about the stern t the highest 
and strongest built of the whole erection 
A photograph representing this portion 
just before removal gives a good idea of the 
general construction of this great caisson — 
for that is what it practically was. The 

upright timbers were half-checked oak 
planks, and were seven inches thick — as 
against the six inches employed on the rest 
of the construction. They were joined by 
horizontal angle- iron framings shaped to 
the vessel's stern. The foot of the planking 
was stepped into a gutter way of double 
angle-irons, shaped to the taffrail. From 
the height of this planking the eye may 
judge the depth below the surface to which 
the deck sank. 

So was raised the Utopia — a wreck reco- 
vered probably in the shortest time and 
with the least expense on record for a vessel 
of her size. 

by Coogfe* 

urig man-ram 


1WISH! It is the wind, let 

Swash ! It is the rain, fall- 
ing in torrents. 

This shrieking squall 
bends down the trees of the 
Volsinian coast, and hurries on, flinging 
itself against the sides of the mountains of 
Crimma, Along the whole length of the 
littoral are high rocks, gnawed by the 
billows of the vast Sea of Megalocrida, 

Swish ! swash ! 

Down by the harbour nestles the little 
town of Luktrop ; perhaps a hundred 
houses, with green palings, which defend 
them indifferently from the wild wind ; 
four or five hilly streets — ravines rather than 
streets — paved with pebbles and strewn with 
ashes thrown from the active cones in the 
background. The volcano is not far 
distant ; it is called the Vauglor. During 
the day it sends forth sulphurous vapours ; 
at night, from time to time, great outpour- 
ings of flame. Like a lighthouse carrying 
a hundred and fifty kertzes, the Vauglor 
indicates the port of Luktrop to the 
coasters, felzans, verliches, and balances, 
whose keels furrow the waters of Mcgalo- 

On the other side of the 

DiqiliZM by\.T 


By Julks Verne.* 

dating from the Crlmtnarian era- Then a 
suburb, Arab in appearance, much like a 
casbah, with white walls, domed roofs, and 
sun -scorched terraces, which are all tlothing 
but accumulations of square stones thrown 
together at random. Veritable dice are 
these, whose numbers will never be effaced 
by the rust of Time. 

Among others we notice the Six-four, a 
name given to a curious erection, having 
six openings on one side and four on the 

A belfry over looks the town, the square 
belfry of Saint Philfikna, with bells hung 
in the thickness of the walls, which some- 
times a hurricane will set in motion. That 
is a bad sign ; the people tremble when 
they hear it. 

Such is Luktrop. Then come the 
scattered habitations in the country, set 
amid heath and broom, as in Brittany, But 
this is not Brittany. Is it in France ? I 
do not know. Is it in Europe? I cannot 
tell. At all events, do not look for Luktrop 
on any map* 


Rat-tat ! A discreet knock is struck upon 
the narrow door of Six-four f at the left 
corner of the Rue MessagH&re. This is one 
of the most comfortable houses in Luktrop 
— if such a word is known there- — one of 
the richest, iF gaining some millions of 

* Published by srecial permission of Messrs- ]* 
Helzel et Cie, All. rijjhLo reserved, 




fretzers, by hook or by crook, constitutes 

The rat-tat is answered by a savage bark, 
in which is much of lupine howl, a* if a 
wolf should bark. Then a window h opened 
above the door of Six-four, and an ill- 
tempered voice says, " Deuce take people 
who come bothering here ! T ' 

A young girl, shivering in the rain 
wrapped in a thin cloak, asks if Dr. Triful- 
gas is at home. 

li He is, or he is not according to 

"I want him to come 
father, who is dying/* 

H Where is he dying?" 

"At Val Kan iion a 
kertzes from here. 1 ' 

" And his name ? ,r 

"Vort Kartif." 

41 Vort Kartif, the 

li Yes ; and if Dr. Tri- 
fulgas- " 

"Dr. Trifulgas is not at 

And the window 15 
closed with a slam, while 
the swishes of the 
wind and the 
swashes of the 
rain mingle in a 
deafening uproar. 


A hard man, this 
Dr, Trifulgas, 
with little com- 
passion, and at- 
tending no one 
unless paid cash 
in advance. His 
old Hurzof, a 
mongrel of bull- 
dog and spaniel, 
would have had 
more feeling than 
he. The house 
called Six - four 
admitted no poor, 
and opened only to the rich. Further, it 
had a regular tariff : so much for a typhoid 
fever, so much for a fit, so much for a peri- 
carditis, and for other complaints which 
doctors invent by the dozen. Now, Vort 
Kartif. the herring-salt er t was a poor man, 
and of low degree. Why should Dr. Triful- 
gas have taken any trouble, and on such a 
night ? 

Digitized by Google 


" Is it nothing that I should have had to 
get up?" he murmured, as he went back 
to bed ; "that alone h worth ten fretzers." 
Hardly twenty minutes had passed, when 
the iron hammer was again struck on the 
door of Six-four. 

Much against his inclination the doctor 
left hb bed, and leaned out of his window. 
4i Who is there ? " he cried. 
il I am the wife of Vort Kartif. n 

"The herring- 
sal t e r of Val 
Karnion ? ?l 

11 Yes ; andj if 
you refuse to 
come, he will die. 11 
"All right; 
you wilt be a 
widow/ 1 

"Here are 
twenty fretzers." 

** Twenty fret- 
zers for going to 
Val Karri ion, four 
kertzes from 
here ! Thank 
you ! Be off with 
you ! " 

And the win- 
dow was closed 
again. Twenty 
fretzers! A grand 
fee ! Risk a cold 
or lumbago for 
twenty fretzers, 
especially when 
to - morrow one 
has to go to Kil- 
treno to visit the 
rich Edzingov, 
laid up with gout, 
which is valued at fifty fretzers 
the visit ! With this agree- 
able prospect before him, Dr. 
Trifulgas slept more soundly 
than before. 

Swish ! Swash ! and then 
rat-tat '. rat-tat ! rat-tat ! To 
the noises of the squall were 
now added three blows of the 
knocker, struck by a more decided hand, 
The doctor slept He woke, but in a fearful 
humour. When he opened the window 
the storm came in like a charge of shot. 
H I am come about the her ring-sal ter/' 
" That wretched herring-saltcr again ! Tt 
li I am his mother." 

11 May his mot her , his wife, and his 
^daughter perish, wftlf r fcw ! " 




41 He lias had an attack " 

44 Let him defend himself. 11 


us. con- 

\ %$ ■•■■■ V :■ ' ■ ■ 

l * Some money has been 
tinned the old woman, u an instalment on 
the house sold to the camondeur Doutrup, 
of the Rue Messagliere, If you do not 
come, my granddaughter will no longer 
have a father, my daughter-in-law a 
husband, myself a son/ 1 

It was piteous and terrible to hear the 
old woman's voice — to know that the wind 
was freezing the blood in her veins, that the 
rain was soaking 
her very bones 
beneath her thin 

"A fit! why, 
that would be 
two hundred fret- 
zers! ,f replied the 
heartless Triful- 

ib We have only 
a hundred and 
twenty. 11 

" Good-night/' 
and the window 
was again closed* 
But, after due 
reflection, it 
appeared that a 
hundred and 
twenty fretzers 
for an hour and 
a half on the road, 
plus half an hour 
of visit, made a 
fretzer a minute. 
A small profit, 
but still, not to 
be despised. 

Instead of 
going to bed 

again, the doctor 
slipped into his coat of valveter, went down 
in hts wading boots, stowed himself away 
in his great coat of lurtaine, with his sau- 
roueton his head, and his mufflers on his 
hands. He left his lamp lighted close to 
his pharmacopoeia , open at page 197. Then, 
pulling the door of Sixty-four, he paused on 
the threshold. The old woman was there, 
leaning on her stick, bowed down by her 
eighty years of misery* 

" The hundred and twenty fretzers." 1 
H Here is the money ; and may God 
multiply it for you a hundredfold ! Tl 

" God ! Who ever saw the colour of His 
money } n 

Digitized by t-OOQK 

'here is tub money; 

The doctor whistled for Hur^of, gave him 
a small lantern to carry, and took the road 
towards the sea. The old woman followed. 


What swishy-i washy weather ! The bells 
of St Philfilena are all swinging by reason 
of the gale, A bad sign ! But Dr, Triful- 
gas is not superstitious. He believes in 
nothing — not even in his own science, 
except for what it brings him in. What 
weather, and also what a road ! Pebbles 

and ashes ; the 
pebbles slippery 
with seaweed, the 
ashes crackling 
with iron refuse. 
No other light 
than that from 
Hurzofs lantern, 
vague and uncer- 
tain. At times 
jets of flame from 
Vauglor uprear 
themselves, and 
in the midst of 
them appear 
great comical 
silhouettes. In 
truth no one 
knows what is in 
the depths of 
those unfathom- 
able craters. Per- 
haps spirits of 
the other world, 
which volatilise 
themselves as 
they come forth. 
The doctor and 
the old woman 
follow the curves 
of the little bays 
of the littoral. 
The sea is white with a livid whiteness — a 
mourning white. It sparkles as it throws 
off the crests of the surf, which seem like 
outpourings of glow-worms. 

These two persons go on thus as far as 
the turn in the road between sandhills, 
where the brooms and the reeds clash 
together with a shock like that of bayonets. 
The dog had drawn near to his master, 
and seemed to say to him, u Come, come ! 
a hundred and twenty fretzers for the 
strong box ! That is the way to make a 
fortune. Another rood added to the vine- 
yard ; another dish added to uur supper ; 
another meat pic fpr_ the faithful Hurzof. 




Let us look after the rich invalids, and look 
after them — according to their purses ! " 

At that spot the old woman pauses. 
With her trembling finger she points out 
among the shadows a reddish light. There 
is the house of Vort Kartif, the herring- 

" There ? " said the doctor, 

44 Yes," said the old woman. 

" Hurrah ! " cries the dog Hurzof. 

A sudden explosion from the Vauglor, 
shaken to its very base. A sheaf of lurid 
flame springs up to the zenith, forcing its 
way through the clouds. Dr. Trifulgas is 
hurled to the ground. He swears roundly, 
picks himself up, and looks about him. 

The old woman is no longer there. Has 
she disappeared through some fissure of the 
earth, or has she flown away on the wings 
of the mist ? As for the dog, he is there 
still, standing on his hind legs, his jaws 
apart, his lantern extinguished. 

i4 Nevertheless, we will go on," mutters 
Di\ Trifulgas. The honest man has been 
paid his hundred and twenty fretzers, and 
he must earn them. 



Only a luminous speck at the distance of 
half a kertz. It is the lamp of the dying — 
perhaps of the dead. Of course, it is the 

Digiiized by LiOOS IC 

herring-salter's house ; the old woman 
pointed to it with her finger ; no mistake 
is possible, Through the whistling swishes 
and the dashing swashes, through the up- 
roar of the tempest, Dr. Trifulgas tramps 
on with hurried steps. As he advances, 
the house becomes more distinct, being 
isolated in the midst of the landscape. 

It is very remarkable how much it 
resembles that of Dr. Trifulgas, the Six- 
four of Luktrop, The same arrangement 
of windows, the same little arched door. 
Dr, Trifulgas hastens on as fast as the gale 
allows him. The door is ajar ; he has but 
to push it. He pushes it, he enters, and 
the wind roughly closes it behind him. 
The dog Hurzof, left outside, howis, with 
intervals of silence. 

Strange ! One would have said that Dr. 
Trifulgas had come back to his own house. 
And yet he has not wandered ; he has not 
even taken a turning. He is at Vat Kar- 
nion, not at Luktrop, And yet, here is the 
same low, vaulted passage, the same wooden 
staircase, with high banisters, worn away 
by the constant rubbing of hands. 

He ascends, 
He reaches the 
landing. Beneath 
the door a faint 
light f il te rs 
through, as in 
Six-four. Is it a 
delusion ? In the 
dimness he recog- 
nises his room — 
the yellow sofa, 
on the right the 
old chest of pear- 
wood, on the left 
the brass- bound 
strong box, in 
which he intended 
to deposit his 
hundred and 
twenty fretzers. 
There is his arm- 
chair, with the 
leathern cushions ; 
there is his table, with its twisted legs, and 
on it, close to the expiring lamp, his phar- 
macopoeia, open at page 197. 

" What is the matter with me ? M he 

What is the matter with him ? Fear ! 
His pupils are dilated ; his body is con- 
tracted, shrivelled ; an icy perspiration 
freezes his skin— every hair stands on end. 
But hasten ! For want of oil, the lamp 




expires ; and also the dying man ! Yes, 
there is the bed — his own bed— with posts 
and canopy ; as wide as it is long, shut in 
by heavy curtains. Is it possible that this 
is the pallet of a wretched herring-salter ? 
With a quaking hand Dr. Trifulgas seizes 
the curtains ; he opens them ; he looks in. 

The dying man, his head uncovered, is 
motionless, as if at his last breath. The 
doctor leans over him 

Ah ! what a cry, to which, outside, 
responds an unearthly howl from the dog. 

The dying man i* not the herring- 
salter, Vort Kartif— it is Dn Trifulgas ; it 
is he, whom conges* 
tion has attacked — 
he himself! Cere- 
bral apoplexy, with 
sudden accumula- 
tion of serosity in 
the cavities of the 
brain, with para- 
lysis of the body 
on the side oppo- 
site that of the seat 
of the lesion. 

Yes, it is he y who 
was sent for, and 
for whom a hun- 
dred and twenty 
fretzers have been 
paid. He who, 
from hardness of 
heart, refused to 
attend the herring- 
salter — he who is 

Dr. Trifulgas is 
like a madman, he 
knows himself lost. 
At each moment 
the symptoms in- 
crease. Not only 
all the functions of 
the organs slacken, 
but the lungs and 
the heart cease to act* And yet he has 
not quite lost consciousness* What can be 
done ? Bleed I If he hesitates, Dr. Tri- 


fulgas is dead. In those days they stil 
bled ; and then, as now, medical men cured 
all those apoplectic patients who were not 
going to die. 

Dr. Trifulgas seizes his case, takes out 
his lancet, opens a vein in the arm of His 
double. The blood does not flow- He 
rubs his chest violently — his own breath- 
ing grows slower. He warms his feet with 
hot bricks — his own grow cold. 

Then his double lifts himself, falls back, 
and draws one last breath. Dr. Trifulgasj 
notwithstanding all that his science has 
taught him to do, dies beneath his own 


morning a corpse was found 
house Six'four — that of Dr, 
Trifulgas, They 
put him in a 
coffin, and carried 
him with much 
pomp to the ceme- 
tery of Luktrop, 
whither he had 
sent so many others 
jKj££ — in a professional 
.?> manner, 

As to old Hur- 
zof, it is said that, 
to this day, he 
haunts the country 
with his lantern 
alight, and howl- 
ing like a lost dog. 
I do not know if 
that be true ; but 
strange things 
happen inVolsinia, 
especially in the 
neighbourhood of 

And, again, I 
warn you not to 
hunt for that town 
The best geographers have 
not yet agreed as to its latitude — nor even 
as to its longitude. 

on the map. 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 


— or, as popularity has abbre- 
viated him, 41 G.A.S/' — is 
one of the merriest men of 
the nineteenth century. He 
is literally loaded with fun and 
good humour. Touch the veteran journalist 
on his anecdotal trigger and you will live all 
the happier after receiving a volley. Ask 
him a question and his answer is— an 
anecdote. It is his only hobby — to gather 
them up— and he is a paymaster in the art 
of dispensing them in any sized quantities 
to meet the requirements of the most 
susceptible constitution. Mr. Sala and his 
wife arc not favourably inclined towards 
flats j and infinitely prefer to live at Brighton, 

where they have a little house, and never 
lose an opportunity of leaving the darkness 
and blackness of Victoria-street for the 
welcome breezes of the Marine Metropolis ; 
yet their little flat is pleasantness itself, and 
in order to reach it, you are welcome to 
enter the front door — always conveniently 

Ptom o FM* |#] 


( JUtolf 4 Fry. 

From & Phvto ty] MRS. SALa's cat. [Ellwtt £ try. 

open — of No. 125, ring the bell of 
the passenger lift, and an obliging 
youth will immediately elevate you 
to the third floor. For such is the 
whereabouts of Sala's flat. 

His pictures are so many that he 
has positively had to fall back on 
the kitchen walls whereon to hang 
many a proof engraving and etch- 
ing, whilst the lower part of the 
dresser in the same culinary depart - 
ment actually provides a resting- 
place for china and other ware of 
rare worth, in place of the cus- 
tomary pots and pans. 

The entrance hall U a perfect 
little menagerie. Here t on shelves 
artistically draped with crimson 

by Google 

Original from 



Ui Oh ! ' exclaimed the 
4 you're Mr. Sailor, you are! 



re, you can have it for ^"13/ 
14 Right/ I said. 

Well, look 


Frvm a tkoto. by KUwU £ fw 

plush, are china cows and horses, deer, 
canaries, and even a rhinoceros. The pig 
predominates, Mr. Sala believes in pigs 
for luck, and pur- 
chases one wher- 
ever he goes. The 
two places of 
honour, however, 
are given up to a 
large -si zed cat and 
monkey. Let it 
be told in a whis- 
per that Mrs. Sala 
confesses to the 
cat as her guard- 
ian angel T because 
it is most Jike a 
woman ; whilst 
Mr. Sala leans 
towards the mon- 
key, because it 
most resembles a 
. A grand- 
father's clock is 
ticking in the 

Here hangs a 
silver violin* It 
was made in 
Cawnpore, and 
was the property of some Rajah of India. 

u I bought it in Leicester-square/ 1 said 
its owner, ''It was marked ^35. I went 
inside and offered a ten-pound note for it" 

1 Going to pay now? * he asked, 

44 1 Yes. 1 

" * Then, take it out of the shop ; for 
it's been hanging here for twenty- five 
years/ ,? 

There are many fine engravings about, 
and just by the dining-room door is a stick 
given to Mr. Sala by Lord Wolseley, after 
his great campaign in South Africa. 

The dining-room overlooks Victoria- 
street. It is a little room, suggestive of 
comfortable meals and excellent company. 
G. A* S.'s personal dining- tabic is not very 
big— one and a half feet square. He always 
uses it, seldom sitting at the larger board, 
and sits in an easy -chair. The bronzes on 
the mantelboard are as exquisite as the 
china and Hanoverian ware set out on the 
bookshelves, and it would be difficult to 
find more works of art crowded into so 
small a space. Examples of Sir John Gil- 
bert, Montalba, Copley Fielding, A, Van- 
dyck, Gerard Dhow T Gustave Dore— 
represented by a grand scene in the High- 

fnm a Ptoto, ty] 

Tlib DlMNOkOOM. 

[fCUwtt £ Frg, 

lands — the original sketch in oils for Luke 
Fildes' u Betty," and a very clever paint- 
ing by Miss Genevieve Ward, the actress, 
of a monk enjoying an after-dinner pipe. 




Frtm a Pbxyto. byl 


Two dogs are from the brush of George 

Mrs, SaVs study adjoins this room. On 
the mantelpiece is a small bust of Henry 
Irving as Ham/ct } and near the window 
is a safe of strong proportions. On a silver 
shield is the following inscription : u George 
Augustus Sala t from Henry Irving , 1881. 
Safe Bind — Safe 
Find/ 1 Mr. Irving 
was once dining 
with Mr, S a 1 a , 
when the latter 
brought out his 
common - place 
book, which was 
commenced in 
1859, and is full 
of notes of delight- 
ful interest. 

"Aren't you 
afraid of losing 
this?" the actor 
asked. "This 
wants taking into 

A few days after- 
wards the safe 

On my way to 
the drawing-room 
and study — which 
is down a passage 
full of pictures and 

crowded with nick- 
nacks — I look in 
at the library, with 
its highly decora- 
tive stained glass 
windows. The 
famous cookery 
library is in a cor- 
ner of the bed- 
room. It comprises 
over 500 volumes, 
dating from 1=78 
to the present day, 
of every country 
and in every Ian* 
guage. Here is a 
cookery book in 
Greek* and a first 
edition of M Mrs. 
Glasse/ 1 worth 
^100. Even to- 
day dishes are pre- 
pared at the Vic- 
toria-street flat 
from an old cook- 
ery volume of Henry Ws reign. It con- 
tains a receipt for a delicious oyster pattie. 
These old-time books are useful when you 
know how to leave out the peacocks 1 
tongues and swans' livers from Elizabethan 

The drawing-room is now reached* Draw- 
ing back the curtains, one enters Mr. Salads 

[Elliott ^ Fr*. 

EUiotlJ: Arj. 




From a Ph^te, fcjr? 


study* In the first apartment — the doors 
of which are inlaid with panels of fruit and 
flowers painted on satin— more artistic 
treasures are to be met with, from the brush 
and pencil of many a master hand, A 
large picture — finished by Millais — of the 
late Mrs. Sala t rests on an easel draped with 
blue plush* 

It was whilst standing here that Mr. Sala 
paid a tribute of great tenderness to the 
memory of his late wife, and spoke as only 
a real man and true husband could 
of the woman who is his helpmate 
to-day* Journalists are the very 
worst of business men, and the 
veteran declares that he is no 
exception to the rule. Happy the 
journalist who possesses a wife of 
business instincts — a woman who 
can relieve him of all these worries, 
and leave him a free course to run 
his pen. 

14 My wife/' says Mr. Sala, " is 
my man of business* She opens 
my letters, reads, and answers 
them, looks after contracts, and 
keeps my accounts. Therein lies 
one of my little secrets, you see. 
My wife takes upon herself all the 
worries of business, so I am enabled 
to work with an easy mind and a freedom 
of heart unattainable by any other means/ 1 

This small cabinet "was made for the 

little Dauphin 
of France, Mr. 
Sala saw it in a 
pa wn bro ker 7 s 
window in his 
early days, and 
paid £2 a month 
for it until he 
had purchased it 
outright for ^15. 
He tells how, as 
a young man, 
when first mar- 
ried, the height 
of his ambition 
was to possess a 
silver soup- 
tureen. Again 
he patronised the 
pawnbroker's, and 
selected one {i to 
be put by " at 
£$$. Unfortu- 
nately, after pay- 
ing £$ his sub- 
scription lapsed, 
and the pawnbroker profited to that extent. 
A bust of a baby reveals Mr. Sala's ability 
with the clay. Once, at Brighton, when 
ill and unable to write, he sent for some 
clay, and modelled it. 

A very remarkable example of the 
sculptor's art rests on a table. Originally 
the Saint was in a semi-nude state. 
E wing , a wonderfully clever Scotch sculptor, 
who modelled the children of the Prince of 
Wales, saw it one day. He took out his 

[EUwti # Fry. 

Krtflll a Photo by tlii- ft & Fry. 

pocket-handkerchief and asked for some 
warm starch. Dipping the linen in this, 
his ingenious fingers wrapped it round 





fn»m 4 / '/ir.( L .. by Ettiott *t /<\y. 

the tiny statuette, as now seen, and, as the 
starch dried, the fabric stiffened, still retain- 
ing its most delicately natural folds. Poor 
Ewing ! He died mi poverty, and was 
buried in New York. A great actor, whose 
name has already been mentioned, stood 
by him till the last. 

It is impossible to catalogue the curiosi- 
ties in the study ; every one of them has a 
history* A little stuffed canary was a pre- 
sent from the late Lady Rosebery. It 
died ; it almost sang itself to death, so loud 
and sweet and frequent were its notes. 
These ostrich eggs hanging from the ceil- 
ing were stolen from a mosque in Morocco. 
Mr, Sala was the receiver, and he revels in 
his crime. This picture is curious. It is 
executed on a common fourpenny dish, 
purchased in the Tottenham Court-road. It 
was held over the smoke of a candle, and, 
after the artist had worked on it with his 
nails and penknife, a charming Italian land- 
scape was the result. A table of eighteen 
different kinds of wood was presented to 
Mr. Sala by the New Zealand Government, 
A glass case contains presentation silver, 
including a massive service from the pro- 

prietors of 77;** Daily Telegraph on Mr, 
Salads fiftieth birthday. The pictures, too, 
are striking — dozens of Millais r engravings, 
Munkacski, Caton Woodyille, Boughtoii 1 
Story, and paintings by De Witt, Stothardt, 
Montalba, another Dofe,a Keeley Halswelle, 
and numerous others from notable artists. 
Amongst the pictorial curiosities being some 
studies by E. M. Ward for his great pic- 
ture of u Napoleon and Queen Louisa of 
Prussia at Tilsit, 1808 M ; " 'Ape/ aped by 
himself," which means the late Carlo Pel- 
legrini caricaturing himself; and a pic- 
tor rally addressed envelope, which was done 
by Augustus Mayhew, one of the brothers 
May hew of Pttnch, the dog being a por- 
trait of a pug belonging to the artist's wife, 
who was, and still is, a great breeder of 

Sugs. On the top of a shelf is the bust of 
leaconsfield. It will be remembered that 
Mr. Sala gave important evidence at the 
famous Belt trial, and stated how he saw 
the sculptor take a piece of clay and make 
the curl w^hich was wont to be seen on the 
great statesman's forehead. This is the 
first cast for the statue in question. 

Now it was that we settled down to talk. 

UHrvEFE5PtY OnJfrffllW.flr 



Prvm a rhoto. bg MUivtt & Fry. 

Mr. Sala discards his customary chair at 
the writing-table, on which stands a 
statuette of Thackeray ; but, lighting a 
cigar — and is not G> A. S. 
generally accredited as being 
the best judge of a Havarmah 
in London ? — he meditatively 
walks the room, and tells, 
point by point and chapteT by 
chapter, the story of his life. 
He wears a short smoking- 
jacket. He is of medium 
height, and is the happy pos- 
sessor of a wonderfully level 
temper. He speaks kindly 
and good-naturedly of all his 
brother scribes, and writes 
the most microscopic hand 
amongst them all. He is 
three-and-sixty years of age, 
but prepared to pack his bag 
and start as " Special Corres- 
pondent f ' to Siberia at a couple 
of hours 1 notice. Though 
certainly the most versatile 
leader-writer of to-day, and 
justly regarded as being at the 
top of the journalistic tree, he 
is still a working man. His 
work is his recreation, the 
recreation of * moving mind* 

He has written more " leaders 1 ' than any 
man living. For the first five years of his 
thirty - four years 1 connection with The 
Daily Telegraph he wrote two a day ; 
now, three hundred leaders a year is his 
estimate. He has no politics, and for up- 
wards of twenty years not a line from 
his pen has appeared in The Daily Tele- 
graph on home politics* He argues that, 
whatever the Government in power, it 
must needs be the best Government. He 
has seen the work of every government in 
every country, from the matter-of-fact 
and easy-going Parliament of the dwellers 
in Central Africa to that of Australia, 
where the supreme ruler is his royal high- 
ness — -Working Man, 

George Augustus Sala was born in New- 
street, Manchester-square, on November 24, 
1 828. His father was an Italian, his mother 
being a professor of Italian singing. He 
was born at a time when children were sent 
out to be nursed. His nurse must have 
been a most diabolical young woman, for 
when it was decided by his mother to have 
little George Augustus home again, she 
attempted to kill her charge. This resulted 
in a long and serious illness, and the small 
life was despaired of. 

11 1 was blind and deaf,'' he said, "from 
seven to half-past eight, that is, from 7 





years to 8 \ years of age. Every oculist 
had a go at my eyes. I have still signs of 
the holes in my ears where I wore ear- 
rings, but all to no avail During this 
time my sister read the Bible to me, and 

the clay, for at school in Paris he gained 
the first prize for modelling a map of South 

u Every hill and mountain top, every 
river and valley was modelled in clay, 

said Mr # Sal a . 
^K/ JbrUB&m&t** i*AJ>'du *yvu£*^r *$*&+» tft%t$m $zc*?Q Ai That's what I call 

&yr *M a**/ a* i JC Am*/- &**/& *&y ^AaJ Ai **&nj & Snj&tmL practical geography 

*»U W y^n frvyg* A*4L ff dZ&AteA***/ <**<*%< & —that's what I should 

tum tffrt tH2j/ ^clr> fiat's *&****&* y tft Ceu* f £uu* Orm, 
^yrneMr 0MXMO/ A * J*fa &** /**f f ju£tm /****** / ft±*t 


;old me childish fairytales. When, at last, 
I recovered my sight, I had a yearning to 
read all that my sister had told me, and I 
taught myself out of a big history of Eng- 

He learned to write as well — practised 
caligraphy from a black-letter Chaucer, 
This will account for Mr, Sala's peculiar 
print-like handwriting. What a happy 
picture - — the little fellow on his knees, 
with the great volume against the back 
of the chair, tracing out letter by letter on 
a piece of paper. His parents' house was 

like to see in our 
schools to-day. We 
want practical les- 
sons, I was sent to 
a school where lec- 
tures were object- 
lessons. We found 
something to learn 
in the green fields 
and flowers, knowledge in every article of 
furniture in the house, from the piano to 
the fire-irons. Why, I read my Greek 
Testament in a laurel grove ! And when- 
ever I had a spare moment, so surely was 
I to be found drawing and modelling/* 

So his childhood's days were passed, and 
eventually at fourteen he was apprenticed 
to Carl Schiller — a miniature painter. He 
also became a pupil at Leigh's Art School 
in Maddox- street* At sixteen he became 
assistant screen-painter to Beverley, at the 
Princess's Theatre* Beverley was a warm- 

rf-W*^'* >A*tf,«W U'^Vt**' A'W t& ^rutrvfLvfirfttpv S^t^^J Ar+^&frJ <J*&Hrf*f 



the resort of many foreigners of distinction. 
At ten years of age he could not speak a 
word of English, and after passing a few 
years at a school in France, came back to a 
school here for the purpose of learning the 
English language, He found it more diffi- 
cult than Greek. As a child he wrote short 
stories — a notable one was a story of travel. 
But his childish fingers seemed destined for 

hearted man. Without taking a halfpenny 
premium he was virtually young Sala's in- 
structor in architectural drawing and per- 

"Then my eyes began to trouble me 
again ," said Mr. Sala, M You see, when a 
figure had to be introduced into a scene I 
was called in to do it. I was almost colour- 
blind. I put black into everything, In^ 



deed, they called me the * gentleman in 
black/ Even to this day the ink I use is 
a Japanese fluid of the deepest and darkest 
dye, such as music is copied with. My old 
skill in modelling stood me in good stead at 
the Princess's Theatre. I used to model 
masks for the pantomime and to paint 
* b props*" As a linguist I translated French 
farces , as a caligraphist used to copy out 
parts ; from my early mathematical training 
I was put on to keep the accounts, stock 
books, wardrobe — you know the sort of 
thing — two pairs tights, seventeen dancers* 
dresses, three pairs of trunks, &c, and all 
for — -fifteen shillings a week t Yet I was 
never so happy in my life ; and at the end of 

Arcade, who made a big profit out oi 

" At last I threw up the engagement at 
fifteen shillings a week, and years after- 
wards I remember the old manager at the 
Princess's saying to a friend, * Look at him. 
I brought hini out at fifteen bob a week, 
and now he is riding in his carriage ! ' " 

Soon after this, young Sala got connected 
with the publishing firm of Ackerman 
& Co., doing all kinds of humorous pro- 
ductions for them, mainly etching on stone. 
Adolphe Ackerman — a man of great prin- 
ciple — insisted, however, that the young 
engraver should learn the whole process of 
engraving on copper and steel ; and, having 

FrvmaFhotQi &y] 



every week I always had 2s. left to lay out 
during the week ensuing in tea and toast 
at Mr, Porter's coffee-shop in Long-acre. 
Porter was a greasy man who was the proud 
possessor of a still greasier library. Theie 
was streaky bacon and shilling butter on 
every page. But, as I ate my toast and 
swallowed my tea, I devoured that library. 
I read Fraser, John Bull in Theodore 
Hook's time, The Quarterly } Blackwood's 
Magazine from the commencement, and I 
know not what, I was unconsciously fitting 
myself for a leader-writer, 1 still kept up 
my painting, though, and well remember 
doing fifty illustrations of Jenny Lind at 
is, 6d, each for a man in the Burlington 

saved a little money, and being helped by 
Mr. Ackerman, he apprenticed himself to 
Henry Alkin for three years. He also 
illustrated many books— some written by 
Albert Smith, and others for Mr. Edward 
Lloyd, who founded Lloyd's News. Mr. 
Sala characterises these last pictures as 
being very ghastly. One in particular was 
for a small novel called ''Heads of the 
Headless," but the picture block was not 
"strong" enough for Mr, Lloyd, He sent 
it back with the note: u More blood, and 
eyes larger ! ,T So skilful did the young 
artist become in his new calling, that, at the 
age of twenty-four, he and Mr, Alkin were 
commissioned to ixeeutt an immense pano- 




rama of the funeral of the Duke of Welling- 
ton. Alkin did the horses, and Sala the 
hundreds of figures. They worked at it 
for six months, but the fumes of the acid 
acting on the steel plates so injured Sala's 
normally weak eyes that he was compelled 
in infinite degradation of spirit to give up 
the craft he so dearly loved — otherwise he 
would have gone blind, He still retains the 
needles he worked with, and the very paper- 
weight to be seen on his study table is a 
copperplate on which he had worked more 
than forty years ago. 

"In 1850," continued the journalist, (t I 
renewed my acquaintance with Dickens. 
Iliad written an article called 'The Key 
of the Street ' for 
Hnusehohi Words, 
From 1 850 to 1856 
I made £300 a 
year out of Dick- 
ens's paper. I did 
a little in the 
dramatic line with 
a dear, dead bro- 
ther of mine ? 
Charles. 1 wrote 
a panto, called 
'Harlequin Billie 
Taylor, 1 under 
Charles Kean's 
management, re- 
ceiving ^100 for 
the opening and 
^5 a piece for the 
comic scenesThen 
I did a translation 
of i The Corsican 
Brothers 1 for the 
Surrey Theatre, 
and got a guinea a Fr&naPhofaitffi 
night for it. I^ran 

150 nights. Many other pieces followed, 
one of which was a burlesque in 1 869 at the 
Gaiety, called 'Watt Tyler, M.P./ in which 
Toole played the titular part. I was suc- 
cessful enough, though the late John 
Oxenford, in a criticism in The Times \ said 
that my plays were Evidently the produc- 
tion of a novice in theatrical matters ! J 
Possibly Oxenford had never heard of the 
15s. a week engagement at the Princess's. 

"In 1856 I went to Russia for Dickens. 
We had a row about the travelling ex- 
penses, so I went On to The Illustrated 
Times, On the staff were James Hanuay T 
Fred and James Greenwood, Sutherland 
Edwards, Edmund Yates, Edward Draper — 
a solicitor, who did the law and crime — and 

Old White, the doorkeeper of the House of 
Commons, who used to divulge the secrets 
of the House ! My turning-point, however^ 
came a year later, when the proprietors of 
The Daily Telegraphy then a young paper, ■ 
sent for me* I was paid two guineas a 
leader, often writing two for three guineas. 
Since then I have been all over the world 
— in times of peace, war, and revolution. I 
have often been chaffed because I once said, 
in the preface of a book, that the proprietors 
of The Daily Telegraph gavv me 'the wages 
of an ambassador and the treatment of a 
gentleman,' That which I stated was the 
precise and literal fact. Litigating jour- 
nalists c^ten have proposed to subpoena me 



with a view to testifying as to the custom 
and law in journalism. My answer invari- 
ably is, 'I can give no kind of testimony as 
to law or custom, inasmuch as I have never 
had any written engagement with The 
Daily Telegraph, who can dismiss me, or I 
could leave them, to-morrow. Their ar- 
rangements with me, both as regards home 
service and foreign missions, have always 
been of the friendliest and happiest 
character. 1 ' 

A fresh sample from a box of the choicest 
Havanahs having bsen lit, the clouds of 
smoke from the weed gave rise to many a 
merry recollection, both of a personal 
character and also associated with people 
whom .Mr. Saia has met. The day I spent 




with Mr. Sala was very near to the opening 
of the Royal Academy. He protested 
strongly against the practice of Show- 
Sunday at artists 1 studios, 

"If I go to a man's studio/ 1 he said, 
M how can I, whilst accepting his hospitality, 
condemn his picture to his face ? If I 
praised it to him to-day, I should only have 
to slate it the next morning in my notice. 
It is not fair either to the critic or the 

But a cloud from the Havanah takes 
him back to the early days again. 

14 When Alexander II, was assassinated, 
I was dining at the Duke of Fife's, at 
Cavendish-square. It was a Sunday. The 
Russian Ambassador sent a messenger say- 
ing that he would be unable to be present, 
as an attempt had been made on the Czar's 
life, and he was gravely wounded. Later in 
the evening came another despatch saying 
that his Imperial Majesty was dead. I knew 
well enough that The D.T. people would 
be down on me that very night to go off to 
St, Petersburg, and I particularly wanted 
the next day in London. I roved about 
from club to club till three o'clock in the 
morning, but they ran me down the same 
day with a note from the 
editor saying, - Please write 
leading article on the "Price 
of Fish at Billing-gate Market, 11 
and start for St* Petersburg by 
the night mail ! ■ I went. I 
was compensated at the rate of 
/iooa week and all travelling 
expenses. I was present at the 
coronation of Alexander III., 
and some of my telegrams 
cost £o°° t0 send. I was for- 
warding something like seven 
columns a day. 

" I have never had to dis- 
guise myself in my calling, as 
some of my brother journalists 
have. I well remember an 
amusing instance of this at the 
Czar's coronation. The Court 
choir there on such occasions 
consists of men arrayed in long 
crimson cassocks, and wearing 
very long beards, who march 
along chanting very loudly. 
The representative of a Paris- 
ian paper whom I knew was 
much upset at not getting a 
pass to go in to the ceremony* 
He said he meant to go, how- 
ever. The great day arrived. I 

was standing in my allotted seat, so to speak, 
when the choir approached. They were all 
chanting loudly, but one of their number, 
fully arrayed and bearded, seemed as though 
singing for dear life. He caught my eye 
and winked. It was my friend ! 

Everything in Russia is done by bribery. 
Still, bribery is not always successful, as the 
following will prove. 

£1 1 was present at the Jubilee garden- 
party given by Her Majesty at Buckingham 
Palace. My flower dropped out of my 
button-hole. A very pretty young servant 
— presumably there for the purpose of 
looking after our wearing apparel, sticks, 
and umbrellas — picked it up. Whilst in 
the act of putting it in my coat again, with 
a view to obtaining a peep into the Queen's 
rooms, I asked her if there was a chance of 
seeing them, at the same time endeavouring 
to slip a sovereign into her hand. She 
shrunk back. 

£ * 4 1 wish I could, sir,' she whispered, 
1 but there's a heye on me ! ' 

u Talking of queens naturally reminds 
me of kings, I have lunched with Alphonso 
XII. of Spain under most distressing cir- 
cumstances. My friend Antonio Gallenga 


was with me- We were 
travelling with the King in 
sumptuous sa loo n 
! r 1ent to us by Mr, 



Salamanaca, the great Madrid financier, 
which the authorities permitted to be 
attached to the Royal train from Madrid 
to Saragossa, After travelling all night in 
terribly cold weather, early in the morning 
one of His Majesty's aides-de-camp appeared 
and commanded us to 'join the Royal 
luncheon party at n a.m/ Alas ! there is 
no rose without its thorn. The bitter 
weather had frozen all the water, and our 
faces were as black as sweeps* ! We stared 
at one another — we were both black in the 
face. What was to be done ? Good 
gracious ! we could not sit before a king with 
such dark expressions as 
these ! 

" Gallenga was a man of 
infinite resource, and was 
apparently undismayed 
by this almost insur- 
mountable obstacle, 

" 4 Ever try candles 1 ? 
he asked. ' The dry wash 
process. See/ and he took 
down some of the wax 
candles with which the 
carriage was lighted, and 
commenced rubbing his 
face with one of them. 
With infinite trust in Gal- 
lenga^ w T isdom I did like- 
wise, and really, after some 
ten minutes' persistent 
rubbing, our faces cer- 
tainly looked more re- 
spectable, though some* 
what waxy and ghastly. 
The a! de-de-camp entered, 
and we went forth to eat 
with the King. Now, the 
King's saloon was uncom- 
fortably warm — very un- 
comfortably warm —and 
as the lunch proceeded it 
became inconveniently hot. When the 
coffee and cigarette stage arrived our faces 
were converted into a series of small 
streams — tears, sir, tears, such as tender 
fathers shed ! In vain I tried to hide them, 
my pocket handkerchief was useless, and I 
left the Royal presence with a countenance 
like — but we will draw a veil over my 
features ! " 

I suggested that perhaps Mr. Sala knew 
Sothem— " Dundreary tT Sotherm 

"Knew him, yes, tp came the reply. 
" Sothern and I went to the Derby toge- 
ther once. I was very elaborately got up, 
and as neat and trim as a new pin. Now, 

I don't think I was in a frame of mind to 
get out of temper easily— I was in a capital 
humour, and never in a jollier mood. 

11 * Look here, Sala,' said Sothern, l I'll 
bet you a new hat that you'll lose your 
temper before the Derby is run, 1 

11 * Done ! ' I cried, and I felt another 
twenty-five shillings rattling in my trousers* 
pocket. Away went Sothern. 

u Five minutes after a red-jacketed fellow 
came up and commenced brushing me 
down. I didn't want it, but I gave him a 
shilling. Then another came up — similar 
process, another shilling. At last altogether 

*'at the ejerhy." 

five i brushes • had been up, and at the 
sixth I seized the fellow and brushed him 

11 * I'll trouble you for a new hat," said some- 
body, quietly tapping me on the shoulder. 
It was Sothern, 

Then we " remembered " sonic of the 
famous men the great journalist has come 
in contact with during his career. To begin 
with, there was Lord Brougham. It was 
Brougham who really taught Mr. Sala to 
speak in public. Before Mr. Sala made his 
first important public speech, Brougham had 
him round at his house and walked up and 
down his dining-room for an hour and more, 




giving him many a good hint. He wound 
up his advice by saying : " Always think 
in semicolons whilst speaking ; bv adhering 
to this rule you will never come to a full 
stop unless you wish it. w 

Then came Cruickshank — dear old George 

11 1 knew him well," said Mr. Sala, "and 
was one of the pall bearers at his funeral. 
When the old fellow was hard up he would 
go and sit in his publisher's office with a 
card round his neck on which was written : 
i I am starving ! ' With such a suggestive 
appeal he never had to wait long without a 
cheque, but he always kept the card handy ! 
Once Prince Albert— the Prince Consort — 
sent for him for the purpose of seeing his 
drawings, ■ He arrived at Buckingham 
Palace, and was marched down countless 
corridors by a 
couple of foot- 
men bearing 
long wands, 
Cruickshank fol- 
lowing them in 
the rear, imita- 
ting them in a 
very exaggerated 
style. On they 
went— wand and 
imitation, imita- 
tion and wand. 
Suddenly a door 
opened from be- 
hind them, and 
a voice cried 
out : * This is 
the room, Mr. 

" Prince Con- 
sort had bee^i 
shank's perform- 
ance in infinite 

Mr. Sala has 
a great admira- 
tion for the 
genius T andalove 
for the memory, 
of Thackeray. 

He first saw 
Thackeray at a ^ a p^fc 3 

small club held on the first floor J>f a little K 
old-fashioned tavern in Dean-street, Soho, 
kept by one Dicky Moreland, supposed to 
have been the last landlord in London who 
wore a pigtail and top-boots* Thackeray 
that night sang u The Mahogany Tree/ 1 
His hair was not white then, but he wore 
the go Id -rimmed spectacles, and stood as 
he always did, with his hands in his 

A M. Alexis Soyer had constructed a 
place he called "The Symposium" on the 
site of the Albert Hall, where Mr. Sala was 
for a short period secretary, Soyer was 
very proud of the huge dining-tent he had 
put up ? capable of dining 300 persons. It 
was made of blue and white canvas. 

When taking Thackeray round the 
grounds one day, Soyer remarked, point- 
ing out the huge 
tent: "This, 
Mr. Thackeray, 
is the baronial 

«Oh ! Bar- 
onial hall, is it !" 
said Thackeray ; 
11 it's more like 

a marquee 

» » 

{L§ Li**™, Xoms. 

"And your 
photo, Mr. Sa- 
la ?" I asked. 

" Oh ! yes- 
certain ly. Had 
it specially taken 
in Rome for you. 
Notice t he 
smile ? " Then 
he added in a 
whisper, as he 
followed me on 
to the stair?, 
b 'The Roman 
specially turned 
on a young man 
to tell me funny 
stories in Italian 
to make me 
laugh. That's 
the secret of 
it! 11 

Hariiv How, 

by Google 

Original from 

By Dick Donovan, 

Autkor *f (l The Man from Manchester," " Tracked to Doom," « Caw^/ at Last," " IKif P&haned Hetty 
Duncan^ li A Detective's Triumphs," "/« tht Grip oftht law;' &c> frc. 

USILY engaged one morning 
in my office in trying to solve 
some knotty problems that 
called for my earnest atten- 
tion, I was suddenly disturbed 
by a knock at the door, and, 
in answer to my u Come in!" one of my 
assistants entered, although I had given 
strict orders that I was not to be disturbed 
for two hours, 

u Excuse me, sir," said my man, "but a 
gentleman wishes to see you, and will take 
no denial." 

*' I thought I told you not to disturb me 
under any circumstances," I replied, some- 
what tartly. 

"Yes, so you did. But the gentleman 
insists upon seeing you. He says his busi- 
ness is most urgent." 
41 Who is he?" 
4< Here is his card, sin" 
I glanced at the card the assistant handed 
to me. It bore the name — 

Colonel Maurice Odell. 
The Star and Garter Club. 

Colonel Maurice Odell was an utter 
stranger to me, I had never heard his 
name before ; but I knew that the Star and 
Garter Club was a club of the highest rank, 
and that its members were men of position 
and eminence. I therefore considered it 

Jjrobable that the Colonel's business was 
ikely, as he said, to be urgent, and I told 
my assistant to show him in* 

A few minutes later the door opened, and 
there entered a tall, thin, wiry-looking man, 
with an unmistakable military bearing. 
His face> clean shaved save for a heavy 
grey moustachet was tanned with exposure 
to sun and rain. His hair, which was 
cropped close, was iron grey, as were his 
eyebrows, and as they were very bushy, 
and there were two deep vertical furrows 
between the eyes, he had the appearance of 
being a stern, determined, unyielding man. 
And as I glanced at his w T elUmarked face, 
with its powerful jaw, I came to the con- 
clusion that he was a martinet of the old- 
fashioned type, who, in the name of 
discipline, could perpetrate almost any 
cruelty ; and yet, on the other hand, when 
not under military influence, was capable 
of the most generous acts and deeds. He 
was faultlessly dressed, from his patent 
leather boots to his canary-coloured kid 
gloves. But though, judging from his 
dress, he was somewhat of a coxcomb, a 
glance at the hard, stern features and the 
keen r deep-set grey eyes, was sufficient to 
dispel any idea that he was a mere carpet 

44 Pardon me for intruding upon you, Mr. 
Donovan," he said, bowing stiffly and form- 
ally, Li but I wish to consult you about a 
very important matter, and, as I leave for 
Egypt to-morrow, I have very little time at 
my disposal." 

u I am at your service, Colonel," I replied, 
as I pointed id *i seat, and began to feel a 




deep interest in the man, for there was an 
individuality about him that stamped him 
at once as a somewhat remarkable person. 
His voice was in keeping with his looks. 
It was firm, decisive, and full of volume, 
and attracted one by its resonance* I felt 
at once that such a 
man was not likely to 
give himself much con- 
cern about trifles, and, 
therefore, the business 
he had come about 
must be of considerable 
importance. So, push- 
ing the papers I had 
been engaged upon on 
one side, I turned my 
revolving chatr so that 
I might face him and 
have my back to the 
light, and telling him 
that I was prepared to 
listen to anything he 
had to say, I half closed 
my eyes, and began to 
make a study of him. 

" I will be as brief as 
possible," he began, as 
he placed his highly 
polished hat and his 
umbrella on the table, 
u I am a military man, 
and have spent much 
of my time in India, 
but two years ago I 
returned home, and 
took up my residence 
at the Manor, Esher. 
Twice since I went to 
live there the place has 
been robbed in a some-' 
what mysterious man- 
lier. The first occasion 
was a little over a year 
ago, when a number of 
antique silver cups 
were stolen. The Scotland Yard autho- 
rities endeavoured to trace the thieves, but 
failed/ 1 

" 1 think I remember hearing something 
about that robbery/' I remarked, as I tried 
to recall the details, " But in what way 
was it a mysterious one ? ff 

"Because it was impossible to determine 
how the thieves gained access to the house. 
The place had not been broken into," 

44 How about your servants ? " I asked, 

" Oh, I haven't a servant who isn't 

hones ^ itself z^ by Google . 

(t Pray proceed. What about the second 
robbery ? }| 

M That is what I have come to you about. 
It is a very serious business indeed, and has 
been carried out in the mysterious way that 
characterised the first one/' 

"You mean it is 
serious as regards the 
value of the property 
stolen ? n 

" In one sense, yes ; 
but it is something 
more than that. Dur- 
ing my stay in India 
I rendered very consi- 
derable service indeed 
to the Rajah of Stool- 
tan, a man of great 
wealth. Before I left 
India he presented me 
with a souvenir of a 
very extraordinary 
character. It was 
nothing more nor less 
than the skull of one 
of his ancestors," 

As it seemed to me 
a somewhat frivolous 
matter for the Colonel 
to take up my time 
because he had lost the 
mouldy old skull of a 
dead and gone Rajah, 
I said, " Excuse me, 
Colonel, but you can 
hardly expect me to 
devote my energies to 
tracing this somewhat 
gruesome souvenir of 
yours, which probably 
the thief will hasten 
to bury as speedily as 
possible, unless he hap- 
pens to be of a very 
morbid turn of mind," 
u You are a little 
premature/' said the Colonel, with a sus- 
picion of sternness. ''That skull has been 
valued at upwards of twelve thousand 

"Twelve thousand pounds!" I echoed, 
as my interest in my visitor deepened* 

11 Yes, sir ; twelve thousand pounds. It 
is fashioned into a drinking goblet, bound 
with solid gold bands, and encrusted with 
precious stones. In the bottom of the 
goblet, inside, is a diamond of the purest 
water, and which alone is said to be worth 
t>vo thousand pounds Now, auite apart 






from the intrinsic value of this relic, it has 
associations for me which are beyond price, 
and further than that, my friend the Rajah 
told me that if ever I parted with it, or it 
was stolen, ill fortune would ever afterwards 
pursue me. Now, Mr. Donovan, I am not 
a superstitious man, but I confess that in 
this instance I am weak enough to believe 
that the Rajah \s words will come true, and 
that some strange calamity will befall either 
me or mine.'' 

"Without attaching any importance to 
that/' I answered, li I confess that it is a 
serious business, and I will do what I can to 
recover this extraordinary goblet, But you 
say you leave for Egypt to-morrow ? " 

11 Yes, I am going out on a Government 
commission, and sha]l probably be absent 
six months/" 

11 Then I had better travel down toEsher 
with you at once, as I like to start at the 
fountain head in such matter s," 

The Colonel was most anxious that I 
should do this, and, requesting him to wait: 
for a few minutes, I retired to my inner 
sanctum, and when I reappeared it was in 
the character of a venerable parson, with 
flowing grey hair, spectacles, and the 
orthodox white choker. My visitor did not 
recognise me until I spoke, and then he 

I had assumed, for I considered it important 
that none of his household should know 
that I was a detective, I begged that he 
would introduce me as the Rev; John 
Marshall, from the Midland Counties* He 
promised to do this, and we took the next 
train down to Esher. 

The Manor was a quaint old mansion, and 
dated back to the commencement of Queen 
Elizabeth's reign. The Colonel had bought 
the property, and being somewhat of ao 
antiquarian, he had allowed it to remain in 
its original state, so far as the actual build- 
ing was concerned. But he had had it done 
up inside a little, and furnished in great 
taste in the Elizabethan style, and instead 
of the walls being papered they were hung 
with tapestry, 

I found that besides the goblet some 
antique rings and a few pieces of gold and 
silver had been carried off, But these 
things were of comparatively small value, 
and the Colonel's great concern was about 
the lost skull, which had been kept under 
a glass shade in what he called his H Trea- 
sure Chamber/' It was a small room t 
lighted by an oriel window. The walls 
were wainscoted half way up, and the 
upper part was hung with tapestry. In 
this room there was a most extraordinary 

requested to know why I had transformed 
myself in such a manner, 

I told him I had a particular reason for 
it, but felt it was advisable not to reveal 
the reason then, and I enjoined on him the 


and miscellaneous collection of things, 
including all kinds of Indian weapons ; 

necessity of supporting me in the character elephant trappings ; specimens of clothing 

f~*f^onlr* Cfrrginal from 




as worn by the Indian nobility ; jewellery, 
including rings, bracelets, anklets ; in fact, 
it was a veritable museum of very great 
interest and value. 

The Colonel assured me that the door of 
this room was always kept locked, and the 
key was never out of his possession. The 
lower part of the chimney of the old- 
fashioned fireplace I noticed was protected 
by iron bars let into the masonry, so that 
the thief, I was sure, did not come down 
the chimney ; nor did he come in at the 
window, for it only opened at each side, and 
the apertures were so small that a child 
could not have squeezed through. Having 
noted these things, I hinted to the Colonel 
that the thief had probably gained access 
to the room by means of a duplicate key. 
But he hastened to assure me that the lock 
was of singular construction, having been 
specially made. There were only two keys 
to it. One he always carried about with 
him, the other he kept in a secret drawer in 
an old escritoire in his library, and he was 
convinced that nobody knew of its exist- 
ence. He explained the working of the 
lock, and also showed me the key, which 
was the most remarkable key I ever saw ; 
and, after examining the lock, I came to 
the conclusion that it could not be opened 
by any means apart from the special key. 
Nevertheless the thief had succeeded in 
getting into the room. How did he 
manage it ? That was the problem I had 
to solve, and that done I felt that I should 
be able to get a clue to the robber. I told 
the Colonel that before leaving the house 
I should like to see every member of his 
household, and he said I should be able to 
see the major portion of them at luncheon, 
which he invited me to partake of. 

I found that his family consisted of his 
wife — an Anglo-Indian lady — three charm- 
ing daughters, his eldest son, Ronald Odeli, 
a young man about four-and-twenty, and a 
younger son, a youth of twelve. The 
family were waited upon at table by two 
parlour-maids, the butler, and a page-boy. 
The butler was an elderly, sedate, gentle- 
manly-looking man ; the boy had an open, 
frank face, and the same remark applied to 
the two girls. As I studied them I saw 
nothing calculated to raise my suspicions 
in any way. Indeed, I felt instinctively 
that I could safely pledge myself for their 

When the luncheon was over the Colonel 
produced cigars, and the ladies and the 
youngest boy having retired, the host ? his 

son Ronald and I ensconced ourselves in 
comfortable chairs, and proceeded to smoke. 
Ronald Odell was a most extraordinary 
looking young fellow. He had been born 
and brought up in India, and seemed to 
suffer from an unconquerable lassitude that 
gave him a lifeless, insipid appearance. He 
was very dark, with dreamy, languid eyes, 
and an expressionless face of a peculiar 
sallowness. He was tall and thin, with 
hands that were most noticeable, owing to 
the length, flexibility, and thinness of the 
fingers. He sat in the chair with his body 
huddled up as it were ; his long legs 
stretched straight out before him ; his 
pointed chin resting on his chest, while he 
seemed to smoke his cigar as if unconscious 
of what he was doing. 

It was natural that the robbery should 
form a topic of conversation as we smoked 
and sipped some excellent claret, and at last 
I turned to the Colonel, and said : — 

" It seems to me that there is a certain 
mystery about this robbery which is very 
puzzling. But, now, don't you think it's 
probable that somebody living under your 
roof holds the key to the mystery ? " 

" God bless my life, no ! " answered the 
Colonel, with emphatic earnestness. "I 
haven't a servant in the house but that I 
would trust with my life ! " 

44 What is your view of the case, Mr. 
Ronald ? " I said, turning to the son. 

Without raising his head, he answered 
in a lisping, drawling, dreamy way : — 

" It's a queer business ; and I don't think 
the governor will ever get his skull back." 

44 1 hope you will prove incorrect in that," 
I said. 44 My impression is that, if the 
Colonel puts the matter into the hands of 
some clever detective, the mystery will be 

44 No," drawled the young fellow, 44 there 
isn't a detective fellow in London capable 
of finding out how that skull was stolen, 
and where it has been taken to. Not even 
Dick Donovan, who is said to have no rival 
in his line." 

I think my face coloured a little as he 
unwittingly paid me this compliment. 
Though my character for the nonce was 
that of a clergyman I did not enter into 
any argument with him ; but merely re- 
marked that I thought he was wrong. At 
any rate, I hoped so, for his father's sake. 

Master Ronald made no further remark, 
but remained silent for some time, and 
seemingly so absorbed in his own reflec- 
tions that he took no notice of the <?on- 




versa tion carried on by me and his father ; 
and presently, having finished his cigar, he 
rose, stretched his long, flexible body, and 
without a word left the room. 

H You mustn't take any notice of my 
son," said the' Colonel, apologetically. i4 He 
is very queer in his manners, for he is con- 
stitutionally weak t and has peculiar ideas 
about things in general. He dislikes clergy- 
men, for one thing, ami that is the reason, 
no doubt, why he has been so boorish 
towards you. For, of course, he is deceived 
by your garb, as all in the house are, ex- 
cepting myself and wife, I felt it advisable 
to tell her who you are, in order to pre- 
vent her asking you any awkward questions 
that you might not be prepared to answer." 

I smiled as I 
told him I had 
made a study of 
the various char- 
a:ters I was called 
upon to assume 
in pursuit of my 
calling, and that 
I was generally 
able to talk the 
character as well 
as dress it. 

A little later he 
conducted me 
downstairs, in 
order that I might 
see the rest of the 
servants, consist- 
ing of a most 
amiable cook, 
whose duties ap- 
peared to agree 
with her remark- 
ably well, and 
three other 
wom^n, including 
a scullery -maid ; 
w T h!le in connec- 
tion with the 
stables were a 
coachman, a 
groom, and a boy. 

Having thus passed the household in 
review, as it were, I next requested that I 
might be allowed to spend a quarter of an 
hour or so alone in the room from whence 
the skull and other things had been stolen. 
Whilst in the room with the Colonel I had 
formed an opinion which I felt it desirable 
to keep to myself, and my object in asking 
to visit the room alone was to put this 
opinion to the test, 

The floor was of dark old cak, polished 
and waxed, and there was not a single board 
that was movable. Having sal idled myself 
of that fact, I next proceeded to examine 
the wainscoting with the greatest care, and 
after going over every inch of it, I came to 
a part that gave back a hollow sound to 
my raps, I experienced a strange tense of 
delight as I discovered this, for it, to far, 
confirmed me in my opinion that the 
room had been entered by a secret dcor, 
and here was evidence of a door. The 
antiquity of the ln;uie and the oak panel- 
ling hud had something to do with this 
opinion, for I knew that in old houses of 
the kind secret doors were by no means 

Although I was 
convinced that the 
panel which gave 
back a hollow 
sound when rapped 
was a di;or, I could 
detect no means of 
cfening it. Save 
that it sounded 
hollow, it was ex* 
actly like the other 
panels, and there 
was no appear- 
ance of any lock 
or spring, and as 
the time I h^d 
stipulated for had 
expired, I rejointd 
the Colonel j and 
remarked to him 

"I suppose 
there is no way 
of entering that 
re cm txeept by 
the doorway from 
the landing ? * ! 

4t Oh no, cer- 
tainly not* The 
window is too 
small, and the 
chimney is barred, 
as you know, for I saw you examining it.'* 

My object in asking the question was to 
see if he suspected in any way the existence 
of a secret door : but it was now very 
obvious that he did nothing of the kind, 
and I did not deem it advisable to tell him 
of my own suspicions. 

11 You say you are obliged to depart for 
Egvpt tomorrow, Coknel ? " I asked. 
* r Ye§, pftflttttftlMfcow night;." 





" Then I must ask you to give nie carte 
blanche in this matter." 

44 Oh, certainly." 

" And in order to facilitate my plans it 
would be as well to make a confidante of 
Mrs. Odell. The rest you must leave to 

44 What do you think the chances are of 
discovering the thief?" he asked, with a 
dubious expression. 

44 1 shall discover him," I answered em- 
phatically. Whereupon the Colonel looked 
more than surprised, and proceeded to 
rattle off a string of questions with the 
object of learning why I spoke so decisively. 
But I was compelled to tell him that I could 
give him no reason, for though I had 
worked out a theory which intuitively I 
believed to be right, I had not at that 
moment a shred of acceptable proof in 
support of my theory, and that therefore I 
could not commit myself to raising suspi- 
cions against anyone until I was prepared 
to do something more than justify them. 

He seemed rather disappointed, although 
he admitted the soundness of my argument. 

44 By the way, Colonel," I said, as I was 
about to take my departure, after having 
had a talk with his wife, 44 does it so happen 
that there is anything the matter with the 
roof of your house ? " 

44 Not that I am aware of," he answered, 
opening his eyes wide with amazement at 
what no doubt seemed to him an absurd 
question. 4i Why do you ask ? " 

44 Because I want to go on the roof with- 
out attracting the attention of anyone." 

44 Let us go at once, then," he said eagerly. 

44 No, not now. But I see that the greater 
part of the roof is flat, and leaded. Now, 
in the course of two or three days I shall 
present myself here in the guise of a 
plumber, and I shall be obliged by your 
giving orders that I am to be allowed to 
ascend to the roof without let or hindrance, 
as the lawyers say." 

44 Oh, certainly 1 will ; but it seems to me 
an extraordinary proceeding," he exclaimed. 

I told him that mainy things necessarily 
seemed extraordinary when the reasons for 
them were not understood, and with that 
remark I took my departure, having pro- 
mised the Colonel to do everything mortal 
man could do to recover the lost skull. 

Three days later I went down to the 
Manor disguised as a working plumber, 
and was admitted without any difficulty, as 
the Colonel had left word that a man was 
•coming down from London to examine the 

roof. As a servant was showing me up- 
stairs to the top landing, where a trap-door 
in the ceiling gave access to the leads, I 
passed Ronald Odell on the stairs. He was 
attired in a long dressing-gown, had Turkish 
slippers on his feet, a fez on his head, and a 
cigar in his mouth, from which he was 
puffing great volumes of smoke. His face 
was almost ghastly in its pallor, and his 
eyes had the same dreamy look which I 
had noticed on my first visit. His hands 
were thrust deep in his pockets, and his 
movements and manner were suggestive of 
a person walking in his sleep, rather than a 
waking conscious man. This suggestion 
was heightened by the fact that before I 
could avoid him he ran full butt against 
me. That, however, seemed to partially 
arouse him from his lethargic condition, 
and turning round, with a fierceness of ex- 
pression that I scarcely deemed him capable 
of, he exclaimed — 

14 You stupid fool, why don't you look 
where you are going to ? " 

I muttered out an apology, and he strode 
down the stairs growling to himself. 

" Who is that ? " I asked of the servant. 
44 That's the master's eldest son." 
44 He is a queer-looking fellow." 
44 1 should think he was," answered the 
girl with a sniggering laugh. 44 1 should say 
he has a slate off." 

44 Well, upon my word I should be in- 
clined to agree with you," I remarked. 
41 What does he do?" 

44 Nothing but smoke the greater part of 
the day." 

44 Does he follow no business or profes- 

44 Not that I know of; though he gene- 
rally goes out between six and seven in the 
evening, and does not come back till late." 
44 Where does he go to ? " 
44 Oh, T don't know. He doesn't tell us 
servants his affairs. But there's something 
very queer about him. I don't like his 
looks at all." 

44 Doesn't his father exercise any control 
over him ? " 

44 Not a bit of it. Why, his father dotes 
on him, and would try and get the moon for 
him if he wanted it." 

44 And what about his mother ? " 
44 Well, her favourite is young Master 
Tom. He's a nice lad, now, as different 
again to his brother. In fact, I think the 
missus is afraid of Mr, Ronald. He doesn't 
treat his mother at all well. And now that 
the Col^j^jg^ we shall all 



have a pretty time of it, He T s a perfect 
demon in the house when his father is not 
here/ 5 

As we had now reached the ladder that 
gave access to the trap door - in the roof \ I 
requested the maid to wait while I went 

My object in going on to the roof was to 
see if there was any communication between 
there and the "Treasure Chamber," But 
the only thing I noticed was a trap door on 
a flat part of the roof 
between two chimney 
stalks. I tried to lift 
the door, but found it 
fastened. So after a 
time I went back to 
where I had left the 
servant, and inquired 
of her where the com- 
munication with the 
other trap door was, 
and she answered — 

H Oh, I think that's 
in the lumber room ; 
but nobody ever goes 
in there. They say it's 
haunted." I laughed, 
and she added, with a 
toss of her head, H Well, 
I tell you, I've heard 
some very queer noises 
there myself. Me and 
Jane, the upper house- 
maid, sleep in a room 
adjoining it, and we've 
sometimes been fright- 
ened out of our wits.*' 

I requested her to 
show me where the 
room was, as I was 
anxious to see if there 
was any leakage from 
the roof. This she 
did, and in order tc 
Teach the room we had 
to mount up a back 
staircase, and traverse 
a long passage. At 
the en J of the passage 
she pushed open a 
door, saying, u There you 
a-going m." 

As the room was in total darkness I re- 
quested her to procure me a candle, which 
she at once got, and then she left me to ex* 
plore the room alone. It was filled up with 
a miscellaneous collection of lumber, boxes 
and packing cases predominating. There 

are. but I ain't 

was a small window, but it was closely 
shuttered, and a flight of wooden steps led 
to the trap door I had noticed on the roof. 
I examined these steps very carefully, and 
found that they were thickly encrusted with 
dirt and dust, and had not been trodden 
upon for a very long time. The door was 
fastened down by means of a chain that was 
padlocked to a staple in the wall ; and chain 
and padlock were very rusty. The walls of 
the room were wainscoted, and the wains- 
cot in places was de- 
cayed and worm-eaten. 
Going down on my 
knees, I minutely ex* 
amined the floor 
through a magnifying 
glass and detected foot- 
marks made with slip- 
pered feet, and I found 
they led to one par- 
ticular corner of the 
room where a sort of 
gangway had been 
formed by the boxes 
and other lumber being 
moved on one side. 
This was very suggest- 
ive, and rapping on the 
wainscot I found that 
it was hollow. For 
some time I searched 
for a means of opening 
"* it, but without result, 
until with almost start- 
ling suddenness, as I 
passed my hand up 
and down the side of 
the woodwork, the 
door swung back. I 
had unconsciously 
touched the spring, and 
peering into the black 
void thus disclosed by 
the opening of the 
door, I was enabled lo 
discern by the flicker- 
ing light of the candle, 
the he?.d of a flight ot 
stone step?, that were 
obviously built in the 
thickness of the walL 

At this discovery I almost exclaimed 
H Eureka ! " for I now felt that I had the 
key to the mystery. As I did not wish the 
servant to know what I was doing, I went 
to the passage to satisfy myself that she 
was not observing my movements ; but a 
dread of the ghost-haunted lumber-roorji 


± + 



had caused her to take herself off alto- 

Closing the door of the room, I returned 
to the aperture in the wainscot, and 
minutely examined the head of the steps, 
where I saw unmistakable traces of the slip- 
pered feet, which were so noticeable in the 
dust that covered the floor of the room. 
Descending the steps, which were very 
narrow, I reached the bottom, and found 
further progress barred by a door that was 
without handle or lock ; but, after some 
time, I discovered a small wooden knob 
sunk in the woodwork at the side, and, 
pressing this, the door, with almost absolute 
noiselessness, slid back, and lo ! the 
41 Treasure Chamber " was revealed. In the 
face of this discovery, I no longer enter- 
tained a doubt that the thief had entered 
the room by means of this secret passage. 
And there was no one in the whole house- 
hold upon whom my suspicions fixed with 
the exception of Ronald Odell. If my 
assumption that he was the thief was 
correct, the mystery was so far explained ; 
and my next step was to discover why 
he had robbed his father, and what he 
had done with the property. He was so 
strange and peculiar that somehow I could 
not imagine that he had stolen the things 
merely for the sake of vulgar gain, my im- 
pression being that in carrying off the 
jewelled skull he was actuated by some 
extraordinary motive, quite apart from the 
mere question of theft, and this determined 
me to shadow him for a time in the hope 
that I should succeed in soon obtaining 
distinct evidence that my theory was 

Before leaving the house, I sought an 
interview with Mrs. Odell, who was anxious 
to know what the result was of my investi- 
gation ; but I considered it advisable, in the 
then state of matters, to withhold from her 
the discovery I had made. But, as her 
curiosity fc> learn what I had been doing 
on the roof was very great, I informed her 
that my theory was at first that there was 
some connection between the roof and the 
"Treasure Chamber "; but, though I had 
not proved that to be correct, I nevertheless 
was of opinion that the purloiner of the 
articles resided in the house. Whereupon 
she very naturally asked me if I suspected 
any particular person. I answered her 
candidly that I did ; but that, in the 
absence of anything like proof, I should not 
, be justified in naming anyone. I assured 
her, however, that I would use the most 

strenuous efforts to obtain the proof I 
wanted. Before leaving her, I remarked in 
a casual sort of way — 

44 1 suppose Mr. Ronald is at the head of 
affairs during his father's absence ? " 

" Well/- she began, with evident reluct- 
ance to say anything against her son, 
44 Ronald is of a very peculiar disposition. 
He seems to live quite within himself, as it 
were, and takes no interest in anything. 
As a matter of fact, I see very little of him, 
for he usually spends his evenings from 
home, and does not return until late. The 
greater part of the day he keeps to his 
rooms. I am sure I am quite concerned 
about him at times.' 1 

The confidential way in which she told 
me this, and the anxious expression of her 
face, sufficiently indicated that Ronald was 
a source of great trouble to her. But I 
refrained, from motives of delicacy, from 
pursuing the subject, and was about to take 
my departure, when she said, with great 
emphasis — 

44 1 do hope, Mr. Donovan, that you will 
be successful in recovering the goblet ; for, 
quite apart from its intrinsic value, my 
husband sets great store upon it, and his 
distress when he found it had been stolen 
was really pitiable." 

I assured her that it would not be my 
fault if I failed, and I said that, unless the 
goblet had been destroyed for the sake of 
the jewels and the gold, I thought it was 
very probable that it would be recovered. 
I spoke thus confidently because I was con- 
vinced that I had got the key to the puzzle, 
and that it would be relatively easy to fit 
in the rest of the pieces, particularly if I 
could find out where Ronald Odell spent 
his evenings ; for to me there was some- 
thing singularly suggestive in his going 
away from home at nights. That fact was 
clearly a source of grief to his mother, and 
she had made it evident to me that she did 
not know where he went to, nor why he 
went. But it fell to my lot to solve this 
mystery a week later. I shadowed him to 
a house situated in a cul de sac in the very 
heart of the city of London. The houses 
in this place were tall, imposing looking 
buildings, and had once been the homes of 
gentry and people of position. Their day 
of glory, however, had passed, and they 
were now for the most part utilised as 
offices, and were occupied by solicitors, 
agents, &c. It was a quiet, gloomy sort of 
region, although it led out of one of the 
busiest thoroughfares of the great metro- 





polis ; but at the bottom of the cul was a 
wall, and beyond that again an ancient 
burial - place, where the dust of many 
generations of men reposed. The wall was 
overtopped by the branches of a few stunted 
trees that were rooted in the graveyard ; 
and these trees looked mournful and melan- 
choly, with their blackened branches and 
soot-darkened leaves. 

The house to which I traced Ronald 
Odell was the last one in the cul on the 
left-hand side, and consequently it abutted 
on the graveyard. It was the one house 
not utilised as offices, and I ascertained that 
it was in the occupation of a club consisting 
of Anglo-Indians. But what they did, or 
why they met, no one seemed able to tell. 
The premises were in charge of a Hindoo 
and his wife, and the members of the club 
met on an average five nights a week. All 
this was so much more mystery, but it was 

Erecisely in accord with the theory I had 
een working out in my own mind. 
The next afternoon I went to the house, 
and the door was opened to my knock by 
the Hindoo woman, who was a mild-eyed, 
sad-looking little creature ; I asked her if 
she could give me some particulars of the 
club that was held there, and she informed 
me that it was known as " The Indian 
Dreamers' Club." But beyond that scrap 
of information she did not seem disposed 
to go. 

44 You had better come when my hus- 
band is here," she said, thereby giving me 
to understand that her husband was absent. 
But as I deemed it probable that she might 
prove more susceptible to my persuasive 
influences than her husband, I asked her 
if she would allow me to see over the 
premises. She declined to do this until I 
displayed before her greedy eyes certain 
gold coins of the realm, which proved too 
much for her cupidity, and she consented 
to let me go inside. The entrance-hall 
was carpeted with a thick, massive carpet, 
that deadened every footfall, and the walls 
were hung with black velvet. A broad 
flight of stairs led up from the end of the 
passage, but they were masked by heavy 
curtains. The gloom and sombreness of 
the place were most depressing, and a 
strange, sickening odour pervaded the air. 
Led by the dusky woman I passed through 
a curtained doorway, and found myself .in 
a most extensive apartment, that ran .the 
whole depth of the building. From this 
apartment all -daylight was excluded, the 
light being obtained from a large lamp of 

Digitized by Google 

blood-coloured ylass, and which depended 
from the centre of the ceiling. There was 
also a niche at each end of the room, where 
a lamp of the old Roman pattern burnt. 
The walls of the room were hung with 
purple velvet curtains, and the ceiling was 
also draped with the same material, while 
the floor was covered with a rich Indian 
carpet into which the feet sank. In the 
centre of the room was a table also covered 
with velvet, and all round the room were 
most luxurious couches, with velvet 
cushions and costly Indian rugs. The same 
sickly odour that I. had already noticed 
pervaded this remarkable chamber, which 
was like a tomb in its silence ; for no sound 
reached one from the busy world without. 

Although all the lamps were lighted it 
took me some time to accustom my eyes to 
the gloom and to observe all the details 
of the extraordinary apartment. Then I 
noted that on the velvet on one side of the 
room was inscribed in letters of gold, that 
were strikingly conspicuous against the 
sombre background, this sentence : 


The dim light and the sombre upholster- 
ing of the room gave it a most weird and 
uncanny appearance, and I could not help 
associating with the Indian Dreamers' 
Club, rites and ceremonies that were far 
from orthodox ; while the sentence on the 
velvet, and which I took to be the club's 
motto, was like the handwriting on the 
wall at Belshazzar's feast. It was pregnant: 
with a terrible meaning. 

While I was still engaged in examining 
the room a bell rang, and instantly the 
Hindoo woman became greatly excited, for 
she said it was her husband, and that he 
would be so fiercely angry if he found me 
there that she would not be responsible for 
the consequences. She therefore thrust 
me into a recess where a statue had for- 
merly stood, but the statue had been re- 
moved, and a velvet curtain hung before 
the recess. Nothing could have happened 
more in accord with my desire than this. 
For I was resolved, whatever the conse- 
quences were, to remain in my place o\ 
concealment until I had solved the mystery 
of the club. There was an outer and an 
inner door, both of them being thickly 
padded with felt and covered with velvet. 
When the woman had retired and closed 
these doors theVlence was absolute. Not 
a sound came to my ears. The atmosphere 




was heavy, and I experienced a sense of 
languor that was altogether unusual* 

I ventured from my place of conceal- 
ment to still further explore the apartment . 

But I gave her to understand that nothing 
would turn me from my resolve ; and if she 
chose to aid me in carrying out my purpose, 
she might look for ample reward. Recog* 


I found that the lounges were all of the 
most delightful and seductive softness, and 
the tapestries, the cushions, and the curtains 
were of the richest possible description. 
It certainly was a place to He and dream 
in T shut off from the noise and fret of the 
busy world, At one end of the room 
was a large chest of some sort of carved 
Indian wood* It was bound round with 
iron bands and fastened with a huge 
brass padlock. While I was wondering to 
myself what this chest contained, the door 
opened and the Indian woman glided in. 
Seizing me by the arm, she whispered — 

** Come, while there is yet a chance. My 
husband has gone upstairs, but he will 
return in a few minutes, 1 ' 

14 When do the members of the club 
meet? '' I asked, 

" At seven o'clock," 

"Then I shall remain in that place of 
concealment until they meet ! t7 I answered 

She wrung her hands in 'distress, and 
turned her dark eyes on me imploringly. 

nising that argument would be of no avail, 
and evidently in great dread of her hus- 
band, she muttered : 

" The peril then be on your own head ! " 
and without another word she left the 

The peril she hinted at did not concern 
me. In fact, I did not even trouble myself 
to think what the peril might be, I was 
too much interested for that, feeling as I 
did that I was about to witness a revela- 

The hours passed slowly by t and as seven 
drew on I concealed myself once more in 
the recess f and by slightly moving the cur- 
tain buck at the edge, I was enabled to 
command a full view of the room. Pre- 
sently the door opened, and the husband of 
the woman came in He was a tall, power- 
ful, fierce-looking man, wearing a large 
turban, and dressed in Indian costume. He 
placed three or four small lamps, already 
lighted, and enclosed in ruby glass, on the 
table ; and also a. number of quaint Indian 
drinking cups* ixiaclc of silver, which I 




recognised from the description as those 
that had been stolen from the Manor a 
year or so previously, together with twelve 
magnificent hookahs. These preparations 
completed, he retired, and a quarter of an 
hour later he returned and wound up a 
large musical box which I had not noticed, 
owing to its being concealed behind a cur- 
tain. The box began to play muffled and 
plaintive music. The sounds were so soft- 
ened, the music was so dreamy and sweet, 
and seemed so far off, that the effect wa^t 
unlike anything I had ever before heard. 
A few minutes later, and the Indian once 
more appeared. This time he wore a sort 
of dressing-gown of some rich material 
braided with gold. He walked backwards, 
and following him in single file were 
twelve men, the first being Ronald Odell. 
Five of them were men of colour ; three of 
the others were half-castes, the rest were 
whites. But they all had the languid, 
dreamy appearance which characterised 
Odell, who, as I was to subsequently learn, 
was their leader and president. 

They ranged themselves round the table 
silently as ghosts ; and, without a word, 
Ronald Odell handed a key to the Indian, 
who proceeded to unlock the chest I have 
referred to, and he took therefrom the 
skull goblet which had been carried off 
from Colonel Odell's " Treasure Chamber " 
by— could there any longer be a doubt ? — 
his own son. The skull, which was pro- 
vided with two gold handles, and rested on 
gold claws, was placed on the table before 
the president, who poured into it the con- 
tents of two small bottles which were given 
to him by the attendant, who took them 
from the chest. He then stirred the decoc- 
tion up with a long-handled silver spoon 
of very rich design and workmanship, and 
which I recognised, from the description 
that had been given to me, as one that had 
been taken from the Colonel's collection. As 
this strange mixture was stirred, the sicken- 
ing, overpowering odour that I had noticed 
on first entering the place became so strong 
as to almost overcome me, and I felt as if I 
should suffocate. But I struggled against 
the feeling as well as I could. The presi- 
dent next poured a small portion of the 
liquor into each of the twelve cups that had 
been provided, and as he raised his own to 
his lips he said — 

11 Brother dreamers, success to our club ! 
May your dreams be sweet and long ! " 

The others bowed, but made no response, 
and each man drained the draught, which 

I guessed to be some potent herbal decoc- 
tion for producing sleep. Then each 
man rose and went to a couch, and 
the attendant handed him a hookah, 
applied a light to the bowl, and from the 
smell that arose it was evident the pipes 
were charged with opium. As these 
drugged opium smokers leaned back on 
the luxurious couches, the concealed 
musical-box continued to play its plain- 
tive melodies. A drowsy languor per- 
vaded the room, and affected me to such 
extent that I felt as if I must be dreaming, 
and that the remarkable scene before my 
eyes was a dream vision that would 
speedily fade away. ; 

One by one the pipes fell from the 
nerveless grasp of the smokers, and were 
removed by the attendant. And when the 
last man had sunk into insensibility, the 
Indian filled a small cup with some of the 
liquor from the skull goblet, and drained it 
off. Then he charged a pipe with opium, 
and, coiling himself up on an ottoman, he 
began to smoke, until he, like the others, 
yielded to the soporific influences of the 
drug and the opium and went to sleep. 

My hour of triumph had come. I stepped 
from my place of concealment, feeling 
faint and strange, and all but overcome by 
an irresistible desire to sleep. The potent 
fumes that filled the air begot a sensation 
in me that was not unlike drunkenness. 
But I managed to stagger to the table, 
seize the goblet and the spoon, and make 
my way to the door. As I gained the 
passage the Hindoo woman confronted me, 
for she was about to enter the room. 

" What is the meaning of this ? " she 
cried, as she endeavoured to bar my 

" Stand back ! " I said, sternly. "lama 
detective officer. These things have been 
stolen, and I am about to restore them to 
their rightful owner." 

She manifested supreme distress, but 
recognised her powerlessness. She dared 
not raise an alarm, and she might as well 
have tried to awaken the dead in the adjoin- 
ing churchyard as those heavily drugged 
sleepers. And so I gained the street ; and 
the intense sense of relief I experienced 
as I sucked in draughts of the cold, fresh 
air cannot be described. Getting to the 
thoroughfare I hailed a cab, and drove home 
with my prizes, and the following morning 
I telegraphed to Egypt to an address the 
Colonel had given me, informing him that 
I had recovered the goblet. 




The same day I went down to the Manor 
at Esher, and had an interview with Mrs* 
Odell. I felt, in the interest of her 


that it was my duty to tell her all I had 

nounced it to be a very powerful and 
peculiar narcotic, made from a combination 
of Indian herbs with which he was not 


E MAY ¥0UK DREAMS BL SWfetfT AN& !_Ofc<3 ! 

learnt the previous night. She was terribly 
distressed, but stated that she had suspected 
for some time that her son was given to 
opium smoking, though she had no idea he 
carried the habit to such a remarkable 
extreme. She requested me to retain pos- 
session of the goblet and the spoon until 
her husband's return, and, in the meantime, 
she promised to take her weak and mis- 
guided son to task, and to have the secret 
passage in the wall effectually stopped up. 

I should mention that I had managed to 
save a small quantity of the liquor that was 
in the goblet when I removed it from the 
club table ; and I sent this to a celebrated 
analytical chemist for analysis, who pro- 

The denouement has yet to be recorded. 
A few days later Ronald Odell, after drug- 
ging himself as usual, was found dead on 
one of the couches at the club. This neces- 
sitated an inquest, and the verdict was that 
he had died from a narcotic, but whether 
taken with the intention of destroying life 
or merely to produce sleep there was no 
evidence to show. Although I had no 
evidence to offer, I was firmly convinced in 
my own mind that the poor weak fellow 
had committed suicide, from a sense of 
shame at the discovery I had made. 

Of course, after this tragic affair, and the 
exposure it entailed, the Indian Dreamers 1 
Club was broker, u^ 1 , and all its luxurious 




appointments were sold by auction, and its 
members dispersed. It appeared that one 
of the rules was that the members of the 
club should never exceed twelve in number. 
What became of the remaining eleven I 
never knew ; but it was hardly likely they 
would abandon the pernicious habits they 
had acquired. 

In the course of six months Colonel 
Odell returned from Egypt, and though he 
was much cut up by the death of his son, 
he was exceedingly gratified at the recov j^j 

of the peculiar goblet, which the misguided 
youth had no doubt purloined under the 
impression that it was useless in his father's 
treasure room, but that it would more 
fittingly adorn the table of the Dreamers' 
Club, of which he was the president. I 
could not help thinking that part of the 
motto of the club was singularly appro- 
priate in his case : " Dream on, for to 
awaken is to die." He had awakened from 
his dream, and passed into that state where 
dreams perplex not. 


[It will be observed that this month there is no detective story by Mr. Conan Doyle reluing the adven- 
tures of the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes. We are glad to be able to announce that there is to be only a 
temporary interval in the publication of these stories. Mr. Conan Doyle is now engaged upon writing a 
second series, which will be commenced in an early number. During this short interval powerful detective 
stories by other eminent writers will be published. Next month will appear an interview with Mr. Conan 
Doyle, containing amongst other interesting matter some particulars concerning Mr. Sherlock Holmes.] 

by Google 

Original from 

Popular Composers, 


a IGNOR TOSTI was born at 
Ortona al Mare, in the pro* 
vince of Abbruzzi, Italy, and 
commenced his studies in 
the Conservatoire at Naples. 
At that time the violin was 
his chosen instrument, and he succeeded 
in gaining first prize for it, which entitled 
him to a free scholarship in the Con- 
servatoire. He continued studying until 
the age of twenty, singing and harmony 
being his chief objects. His first songs 
were "Non M'ama Piu IT and "Lamento 
d'Amore," Curiously 
enough, both of these 
songs were refused by 
three Italian pub- 
lishers, but eventually 
became his most popu- 
lar Italian songs, and 
Riccordi, one of the 
Italian publishers who 
refused to buy them 
or publish them, paid 
a large sum for them 
a year after, Ever 
since this transaction 
Riccordi has continued 
to publish his Italian 
songs. In conse- 

quence of the success 
of his songs in Italy, 
he was appointed 
teacher to Queen Mar- 
guerite, In the year 
1876 Srgnor Tosti first 
came to London, and 
with his very first 
song caught the pub- 
lic's fancy with " For 
Ever and for Ever.' 1 
His most popular 
songs are " For Ever 
and for Ever " and 
M Good-bye " ; of the 
later ones M Beauties 1 
Eyes," '* Venetian Song," 
and *'My Hearts 
Delight/' Like many 

other composers, the melodies he himself 
liked best failed to become popular. In 
Siguor Tosti's opinion, the real success of 
a popular song lies sometimes in the 
prelude, sometimes in a happy interval, 
or a happy cadence, but always in having 
something that reminds the ear of some- 
thing else. His rich passionate Southern 
melodies have won their way to our Eng- 
lish hearts, and Tosti is a name that has 
long since shed its foreign garb, and has 
become to our musk-loving folk a house- 
hold word. Signor Tosti intends to remain 
in England for many years to come, it 
being, as he remarks, *■ his second home," 



■»«»«- ^UNI- 


8 4 


Frank Lewis Moir* 

Mr. Moir was born at Market Harborough, 
and, having lost his father, who was an 
artist, before he was three years old, received 
his first musical teaching from his mother, 
but was educated at the South Kensington 
School of Art to follow the profession of 

iVafti a Photo, t^j 

FHANK I . Mm I.-:. 


his father* But the boy was a born 
musician, and, having in 1880 gained an 
open scholarship at the National Training 
School of Music over the heads of forty 
competitors, he decided to pursue the 
course to which his natural genius clearly 
summoned him, and to follow music as 
a profession, His work brought him under 
the notice of Mr + John Boosey, by whom 
he was engaged for a term of years to write 
only for his firm* Among the songs written 
during that period was u Only Once More/ 1 
one of the most popular songs ever produced 
by any composer. To mention his later 
songs would be superfluous ; there are 
works amongst them which are household 
words in every home where music is loved. 
Our readers need not be reminded of Mr. 
Moir T s song T ( ' The Winding Walk," which 
appeared in our No. of December last. 

Lawrence Kellie. 

Mr, Lawrence Kellie was born in the 
neighbourhood of Maida Vale. He was 
articled as a solicitor's clerk for 

but after the expiration of two, he aban- 
doned law for music, which he felt was 
the true bent of his future career. At 
the early age of four, he used to extem- 
ponse, and at fifteen published his first 
piece, a gavotte for the piano^ under a 
nom de plume. One year after giving up the 
law he entered into a contract with Metzler 
& Co. to write for them for three years. 
This agreement was renewed for another 
three years, and terminated last Christmas. 
During that period he has attained well- 
deserved popularity with several composi- 
tions— ifc Douglas Gordon," M Sleeping Tide," 
" You ask me why I love," " An Autumn 
Story," and M A Winter Love Song," being 
his chief successes* He creates all his own 
songs in the series of recitals which he gives 
in London and the provinces* Mr. Kellie 
has a select school of followers, and his re- 
citals at Stein way Hall are always attended 
by a fashionable throng ; his compositions 
have a very marked individuality, and in 
his rendering of a song he very happily 
defines the kinship between recitation and 


lr»m*rJvt#.1>B) ILMVkKNCJi VHii.UL [ Window £ Urm, 



Walter Slaughter, 

Mr. Walter Slaughter was born in the 
year i860, in the neighbourhood of Fitz- 
roy-square. His career began as a cho- 
rister in St. Andrew's, Wells-street, at the 
age of eleven, where he sang for two years. 
One or two other people who have since 
become famous were there, amongst them 
Thurley Beale, Oliver King, and Edward 

From a Fhoto fy] WALTER SLAUGHTER, [J,H.Sop*T>Batt*r*ea. 

Lloyd, the celebrated tenor. His father was 
far from musical ; as Mr, Slaughter quaintly 
puts it, u he knew when * God Save the 
Queen T was played because people stood 
up, and that helped him to recognise it, but 
that was his full musical knowledge." At 
the age of thirteen he left the choir, and 
finished hb education at the City of London 
School, after which he spent a little time 
in a wine-merchant's office, and then was 
employed in the music-publishing firm of 
Metaler. While there, he studied under 
Cellier and Mr, Jacobi, working hard at or- 
chestration, and soon making a reputation as 
a writer of dramatic music, which continued 
to increase until the very successful opera of 
"Marjorie" put the climax to his fame. As 
a song writer, he has scored a decided success 
with ki Dear Homeland "and " Gondola 
Dreams/' His latest song is U I Surrender," 
published at Cramer & Co,'s 3 Regent-street. 

Signor Tito Mattel 

This celebrated pianist and composer was 
born on May 24, i84i,in Campobasso, near 
Naples. He commenced to study at the 
early age of four, under his father, whose 
musical instrument was the flute, and pro- 
fession that of a solicitor. After his father, 
his master was the great teacher Thalberg. 
All his studies were conducted at home, his 
teachers in harmony being Signors Parisi, 
Ruta, Conti, and Raimondi. Amidst great 
success, he gave his first large public con- 
cert at Naples on September 28, 1846 ; 
he was then only five years old. Nearly all 
the notable musicians were present, amongst 
them such people as Mercadante, the 
director of the Naples Conservatoire, and 
the famous Lablache, who, being very 
stout, bought two seats to accommodate 
himself. From then up to the year 1851 
he studied, and gave concerts near Naples 
and in Palermo and Messina, In 1852 
he made his debut in Rome, with so much 
success that he was presented with a special 
diploma, and had the honour of a professor- 
ship conferred on him by the Accademia di 
Santa Cecilia at Florence, He was admitted 
to the Societa Filarmonica, In the same year 


trvma Fkoto r bv\ tIGHOl TITO UATTSI* 

[ irofcrj , 

he went to Florence, where he met Rossini, 
who called him his colleague, and gave him 
eventually a host of letters with special 
recommendation to the leading musicians 
and patrons ai musk in Paris and London, 



It was also in this year that he had the 
honour of playing at the Court of Victor 
Emanuel ; and, after the performance, the 
present King, who was then about the same 
age as Mattel — eleven — came forward bear- 
ing a large tray of sweets, and presented it 
to him, saying, (i This is for you and your 
friends, 1 ' During his stay in Turin the 
Marchioness of Barolo offered to adopt 
him, and the Duke of Litta offered to do 
likewise ; but the boy's father refused to 
part with him. 

It was in the year 1853 that he first came 
to London. His first appearance here was 
at Mr, Ella's Musical Union, 

His first piece published was a waltz called 
u Mattel's Waltz," which was the means of 
establishing his fame as a composer far and 
wide, being very popular throughout a v 
Europe. After this came his celebrated 
11 Non fe ver," then " Non Torno," "Oh, 
oh, hear the wild winds blow ! ,f and a very 
great number of pianoforte pieces and songs. 

Among his later productions are u Dear 
Heart/ 1 (i Kiss and Good-bye," " Chit-Chat," 
the opera " La Prima Donna," produced at 
the Avenue, and the following songs : — 
"Only Mine, 11 
11 What will you do 
without me?" " Be- 
side Me," and his 
latest song, a bolero, 
" Carita," 

Isidore De Lara, 

Mr. De Lara was 
born in London on 
the 9th of August, 
1858, He com- 
menced to study the 
piano at the age of 
ten, under Mr. Agui- 
lar ; at thirteen he 
made his first appear- 
ance before the 
public, and con- 
tinued to play in 
many recitals. At 
fifteen he went to 
Milan, where he 
studied at the Con- 
servatoire of Music 
under SignorMazzu- 
cato for composition, 
and Signor Lamperti 
for singing. He 
remained in Italy 
for three years, 
taking the grand 

From a] 


prize for composition. On his return to 
England y he commenced to make use of 
his voice and talent for composing. His 
first song of note was one named " Only a 
Song," written about 1882. He next pro- 
duced a comic opera t "The Royal Word/' 
libretto by Mr, Henry Hersee. His next 
compositions of note were a choral work, 
"Song of Orval/- poem by Lord Lytton, 
and a cycle of melodies, il To the Palms, 1 f 
words by Lord Lytton. Of songs he has 
written about 150, out of which the most 
popular are :' " Mine To-day," "All of my 
All," " How will it Be ? ,T " The Beginning 
of the Stay," "After Silent Years," and 
" The Garden of Sleep." Mr. De Lara 
owes a fair share of his fame to his public 
recitals, of which he has gi%-en over two 
hundred during the last ten years. Nature 
has endowed him with a good voice, and 
that, together with his undoubted ability 
as a composer, has brought Mr. De Lara 
to the position he now holds in the musical 
world. His last work is an opera, viz., 
q The Light of Asia." This was originally 
a sacred cantata T written for concert work, 
but, at Mr- Maurel's suggestion, it was 

converted into an 
opera, and was 
produced by Sir 
Augustus Harris 
last month. Mr. De 
Lara is now writing 
an opera, with Sir 
Augustus Harris's 
libretto, the first act 
of which is finished. 
The subject is 
"Kenil worth," 

Milton Wellings* 

Mr, Milton Well- 
ings was born in 
1 85 1, in the county 
of Stafford. His 
father, Mr, Joseph 
Welling?, being an 
amateur musician, 
and perceiving his 
son's love of music, 
determined to take 
his musical educa- 
tion into his own 
hands. The first 
song Mr. Wellings 
published was en- 
titled u In the 
Twilight," which 
Ci*«o«r^tfrerfM not attract any 



special notice ; a later one, however, became 
fairly successful, named "At the Ferry/' 
and at length, amongst many others, he 
published the song that was destined to 
make his name popular wherever the 


UfffejK -i 




From a Phot.*. Ay] 


JiuiAi-n" mouth. 

English tongue was spoken or sung: the 
name of this song was " Some Day/' There 
is a little incident in connection with this 
song which illustrates once more how 
craftily Dame Fortune leads her favoured 
ones through a maze of circumstances 
to fame. Mr + Milton Wettings' wife had 
embarked on board a yacht, which had 
met with an accident* The news of the 
accident had been conveyed to Mr. Wellings, 
and it was during his nervous pacing up 
and down the room that his eyes lighted on 
a poem, half open on the table, by Hugh 
Conway. To try and chase his fears away 
regarding his wife he abstractedly took it 
up, and by some strange chance the first 
line actually painted his feelings of distress 
at that moment. With his attention now 
riveted on the poems, he read them through, 
and unconsciously the melody of u Some 
Day ' J sprang into life. 

Emboldened by the success of his song, 

Digitized by Vjt 

Mr, Wellings is now engaged on a novel 
bearing the same title, let us hope with as 
favourable a termination in its plot as the 
foregoing episode, as Mrs, Wellings escaped 
from all injury, Mr. Wellings is busy on 
several orchestral works, which are nearly 
ready to submit to the public- 

Berthold Tours. 

Mr. Berthold Tours was born December 
17, 1838, at Rotterdam. His father was 
the organist at St, Lawrence Church there, 
and gave him his first instruction in music, 
particularly in the violin. He studied also 
under Verhulst, who was the intimate 
friend of Mendelssohn and Schumann* At 
seventeen he was sent to Leipsic, where, 
as one of the high-class violin pupils, 
he was allowed the distinction of playing 
in the world-famed Gewand-haus concerts. 
Among his fellow students at the Conserva- 
toire was Arthur Sullivan. After leaving 
Leipsic he accepted an offer to become 
a member of the private string quartette of 
Prince George Galitzin, the son of Prince 
Nicholas Galitzin, He came to London in 
j 86 1 at the request of Prince Galitzin, who 
was then residing in England. Like many 
others his efforts to succeed in London 
wGte very trying, but at length he arrested 
the attention of Mr. Joseph Barnby, then 
musical adviser to Messrs, Novello, Ewer 
& Co.* by a couple of anthems, and the 
interest aroused in Mr, Barn by resulted in 
the publication of many works which Mr. 
Tours had previously written, The anthems 

From a Fhctoify^ j m^RT holts tourb. 


[E. fii**z y Btriin. 



alluded to above were M Blessed are they 
that dwell in Thy home," and " To Thee, 
Lord." Since then Mr. Tours has estab- 
lished his popularity as a song- writer t having 
published about a hundred songs. Among 
the best known are " Stars of the Summer 
Night, ,T "The Angel at the Window," 
"The Three Singers/' H Because of Thee/' 
n Two Dreams/ 1 and (i The New Kingdom," 
and a setting of "Our Enemies are Fallen," 
from " The Princess," for the Tennyson 
Collection of songs, 

Signor Denza* 
Sign or Denza was born in Cast el lam are 
di Stabia, near Naples, on February 24, 1846. 
His talent for music was discovered at the 
age of seven. He commenced his studies 
at t'ie Conservatoire of Naples, where in a 
year he gained a free scholarship. His 
first popular work was a Neapolitan song 
named "T AUicuorde," after which followed 
several French and Italian songs, notably 
"Giulia," (i Si tu m'aimais," but the best 
adapted to the public taste proved to be 
" Se," These productions were very suc- 
cessful early efforts. It was in the year 1879 

t'taak a Photo. l)f\ 



that Signor Denza first came to London. 
His first songs here were " Come to Mc," 
tfc Call me Back/ 1 u Marguerite/ 1 and " Kiver 
of Rest/ 1 In the year 1883 he was appointed 
Professor of Singing at the London Academy 
Of Music under Dr. Wild, On the death of 

Digitized by \l>< 

Dr. Wild he was appointed a director, which 
post he now holds. Signor Denza has re- 
ceived the decoration of honour for music 
from Queen Marguerite* His latest songs 
are l{ Hush-a-Bye/ 1 " The Sweetest Song/ 1 
" No More/- " Flower of my Soul," « Light 
of the Day/' and "Recalled/' words by 
George Arthur Binnie, 

Alfred Scott Gatty (York Herald). 

Mr. Alfred Scott Gatty is the second 
surviving son of the Rev, Alfred Gatty, 
D,D., Vicar of Ecclesfield, in the county of 

From a FAoto, by] ALFRED 5CQTT CATTY* { If". <* D. Dmcrwy, 

York, and Sub-Dean of York Cathedral* 
He was born at the Vicarage, Ecelesfield, 
on the 26th of April, 1847, His mother, 
Mrs* Alfred Gatty, was a well-known writer 
in her time, being the authoress of " Para- 
bles from Nature/' &c. t and founder and 
for many years editor of the magazine for 
children called Aunt Judy^s Magazine. 

Mr. Scott Gatty was educated at Cam- 
bridge, where he devoted all his energies 
to music, and where he conducted and 
wrote for an Amateur Orchestral Society 
entirely composed of undergraduates. 

In 1866 Mr, Gatty commenced writing 
songs for children in his mother's magazine, 
the outcome of which is three handsome 
volumes entitled u Little Sungs for Little 
Voires/' published by Messrs, Metzler Sl 




Co., and which are very popular in both 
drawing-room and national school, Mr. 
Gatty wrote most of the lyrics of these little 
ditties as well as the music. 

In 1868 appeared two of the most popular 
songs Mr- Scott Gatty has ever written, 
viz*, " O Fair Dove, O Fond Dove," and 
" True till Death/' Others to the number 
of over 200 have appeared from time to 
time. The best known perhaps are " Gal- 
lants of England/' li One Morning, oh, so 
Early, " Rothesay Bay," "In a Ouaint Old 
Village; 1 " The Hay is V the Mow," " Win- 
ter," tf When Harvest Came Again," 
4( When Love was a Little Boy." His 
humorous songs have also been very popu- 
lar, such as "Three Little Pigs," H Camo- 
mile Tea," " Dear Aunt Jane," a Who do 
you Think were There?*' and also the 
well-known plantation songs. Amongst his 
latest songs are "The Waves Answer 1 ' and 
"Love Built his Nest," published by Moc- 
catta, Berners-street, words bv George 
Arthur Binnie. 

In 1880 Mr. Scott 
Gatty was appointed 
Rouge Dragon Pur- 
suivant of Arms of 
the College of Arms, 
and in 1886 was ad- 
vanced to the office 
of York Herald, 
which appointment 
he still holds. 

Alfred James 


Mr, Caldicott was 
born in 1842, in the 
city of Worcester. 
At the age of ten 
he became a choris- 
ter in the Cathedral 
choir. After five 
years he became 
assistant organist at 
the Cathedral, In 
1863 he left Wor- 
cester to go to Leip- 
sic, to complete his 
studies ; his masters 
in piano playing were 

iVwna 1'hota. by} ALFRED JAMES CALDICOTT. [Saro*y> A\F. 

Plaidy and Moscheles ; in composition his 
tutors were Carl Reinecke and Hauptmann. 
He remained there for two years, returning 
to Worcester in 1865, and was appointed 
honorary organist to the Corporation. Dur- 
ing his appointment he established the 
Worcester Musical Society. About this 

period he took the degree of Bachelor of 
Music at Cambridge. His first important 
composition was the oratorio, " The Widow 
of Nam/' which was performed at the 
Worcester Triennial Festival in the year 
1878, under his direction, in the Cathe- 
dral where he first received his musical 

His first serious attempt to win the favour 
ot a London audience occurred about 1880, 
by an operetta at German Reed's, 
entitled u Treasure Trove/' which was 
so successful that up to the present day 
he has composed no less than thirteen 
operettas for the same place of entertain- 

The late Carl Rosa commissioned Mr. 
Caldicott to write two operettas, viz., M All 
Abroad,'' and "John Smith, " which were 
produced and run successfully at the Prince 
of Wales's Theatre during 1889 and 1890, 
Just previous to his death, he had received 
from Mr. Carl Rosa a more important com- 
mission for Miss 
Agnes Huntington, 
He now holds the 
post of music direc- 
tor at the Prince of 
Wales's Theatre, 
under the manage- 
ment of Mr. Horace 
Sedger. He has 
written about 100 
songs and part- 
songs, the most 
popular of which 
are t( Unless," and 
the humorous one, 
M Two Spoons. 11 He 
has also written 
several cantatas for 
ladies' voices, the 
best known being 
" The Queen of the 
May," and "The 
Rhine Legend J' 

No list of popular 
composers would be 
complete without 
the names of Mr, 
May brick (Stephen 
Adams), Jacques Blumenthal, Frederick 
Hymen Cowen, and Miss Maude Valerie 
White ; but as portraits of the first two 
of these have already appeared among 
our " Celebrities at Different Ages," while 
those of the two Utter will do so shortly, 
we do not givjeJthem .hWr, - P ... 


The Story of Mont Blanc. 

By J. E, Muddock, KR.G.S. 

(l Mont Blanc is the Monarch of Mountains ; 
They crown d him long ago 
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, 
With a diadem of snow*" — BVRON. 

" Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky, 
Mont Blanc appears — still, snowy, and serene — 
Its subject mountains their unearthly forms 
Pile round it, ice and rock/'— Shelley, 

HERE are higher mountains, 
and ruggeder mountains, and 
mountains more difficult of 
ascent than Mont Blanc ; but 
there is never a mountain in 
the wide world with such a 
strange story as that which will for all time 
cling to the " Monarch ht — a story that is at 
once grim, tragic, pathetic, and even comi- 
cal and absurd ; a story, too, in which love 
and heroism play a strange part ; and in 
the annals of science no mountain occupies 
such a distinguished place. Mont Blanc 
falls far short of other mountains as regards 
height — Gaurisankar, in the Himalayas, for 

Mont Blanc is known. At what period 
this name was first bestowed upon it is nOt 
very clear. Certainly it vvas not so called 
in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. In 
an atlas by Mercator, published in 1595^ 
there is mention of the village of Chamo- 
nix, but Mont Blanc and its satellites are 
simply referred to under the general term 
of "Glaciers/* One grows dumb as he 
thinks of the thousands of years, and tens 
of thousands, and hundreds of thousands, 
and perhaps millions of years that the 
mighty dome of eternal snow has dominated 
the valley where Chamonix now stands, 
How small and paltry seem the affairs of 
man when compared with such an enduring 
monument of God's handiwork ! As far 
back as the tenth century we read that a 
Priory stood at the foot of Mont Blanc, 


instance, being 29,000 ft. But, in spite of 
this, it has been aptly styled k the Monarch 
of Mountains/ 1 and it well deserves the 
proud distinction j for it is unique, and 
proudly soars to the sky — 

"In ihe wild pomp of mountain majesty/' 

Men and women from all parts of the 
world have come to pay it homage, and 
wherever there is civilisation the name of 

Digitized by^OOgLC 

The valley at that time was wellnigh in- 
accessible, and for hundreds of years the 
Priors and holy brothers were undisturbed 
by the roar of the outer world, which 
reached not their solitude where the mighty 
mountain reigned supreme and changed 
not, though generation after generation of 
men came from the dust, lived their day, 
and then went down into the dust again, 
and in a i i * K ■ while were remembered no 



more. Through all these centuries Mont 
Blanc was regarded as absolutely inacces- 
sible, It was supposed that the cold was so 
intense that no living thing could possibly 
exist. It was regarded as a white world of 
death, whose silence would never be broken 
by anything save the thundering roar of 
the avalanche. In 1762, however, there was 
born in the tiny village of Pellarius, at the 
foot of the Monarch, one Jacques Balmat, 
who was destined 
to break the spell 
of mystery that 
had surrounded 
the mountain from 
the beginning of 
time, Balmat's 
parents were the 
poorest of peasants, 
very humbte and 
very ignorant. In 
their wildest 
dreams — ■ if they 
indulged in dreams 
— they could never 
have hoped for 
fame or wealth. 
But what was 
wealth to them 
was to come 
through their son ; 
and it was or- 
dained that by his 
great deed the 
name of Balmat 
should go down 
through the ages, 
and perish not 
until the mountain 
itself perishes from 
the face of the 
earth. Young Bal- 
mat was endowed 
with all the quali- 
ties that are found 
in the true moun- 
taineer. He had 
the eye of an eagle, 
the strength and endurance of a lion, and 
the dauntless courage of a true man. 
From an early age he showed a love for 
the glaciers, and a yearning for the moun- 
tains. As he grew in years he displayed a 
talent for botanising, and in his search for 
plants he would scale dizzy precipices, 
while no dweller in the whole of the 
lovely valley had such an intuitive know- 
ledge where to find the mountain crystals 
as he had. 


Jacques was only a little more than 
twenty when he began to make excursions 
on the upper glaciers, and to express a 
desire to penetrate to Mont Blanc's frozen 
solitudes. The mountain fascinated him. 
The more he looked at it the stronger grew 
the spelL His friends and neighbours told 
him that it were worse than madness, it 
was a tempting of Providence to even think 
of reaching those white regions of ice and 

snow* But he was 
undeterred. That 
dazzling dome that 
towered so far up 
into the thin blue 
air seemed to in- 
vite him to tread 
its virgin snows, 
which sometimes 
looked ghastly in 
their leaden pal- 
lor, and at others 
glowed with such 
a glory of rose and 
crimson that it 
almost seemed as 
if a light not of 
earth but heaven 
streamed straight 
down upon them t 
And at last ? unable 
to withstand the 
fascination any 
longer, young Bal- 
mat essayed to 
reach the lofty 
height on which 
the stars in their 
courses sometimes 
seemed to rest. 
But his first at- 
tempt was a failure, 
though he was not 
discouraged. He 
had* in him the 
stern stuff that 
makes heroes; and 
it was death or 
little later, in corn- 



him. A 

some companions, he made 

another attempt, and succeeded in getting 
beyond what is know T n as the Grand 
Plateau, but here the courage of the 
others failed, and they decided to go back. 
Utterly undaunted, Balmat refused to de- 
scend with them, and decided on passing 
the night in the awful wilderness of snow 
and ice. 

The Grand Pl^cau is an immense cirque. 




the bottom almost a level plain of about 
four acres and a half in extent, and situated 
12,000 feet above the level of the sea. It 
is the playground of avalanches, and the 
birthplace of whirlwinds. It is a region of 
deadly cold and ghastly whiteness. When 
the sun shines on it the glare is blinding ; 
and at night it is weird beyond the power 
of words to describe. Shelter there is none ; 
and yet, on this plain of eternal snow the 
intrepid Balmat spent the night. When 
we think of this man, lost, as it were, in the 
middle of the vast and unknown solitude, 
and being well aware that whatever might 
happen no succour could ever reach him, 
our admiration for his wonderful courage 
must be boundless. He was the first human 
being who ever passed the night in that ice 
world, and what he suffered is best told in 
his own words : — 

"At last," he says, "the day began to 
break. None too soon for me, for I was 
all but frozen, notwithstanding that I had 
rubbed myself vigorously, and performed 
the most ridiculous antics by way of keep- 
ing up the circulation. But still I was 
determined to continue my explorations." 

He had noticed the day previous that a 
very rapid slope led to a mass of rocks 
cropping up through the ice, and which 
from their dark red colour had been named 
the " Rochers Rouge." He now decided to 
endeavour to gain these rocks, being under 
the impression that from them the summit 
was perfectly accessible. He found, how- 
ever, that the slope was solid ice, and in 
order to maintain his footing he had cut 
holes with his iron-shod alpenstock. 
Quoting his own words again he says : — 

" It was neither easy nor amusing to be 
suspended, as it were, upon one leg with a 
profound abyss below you, and nothing but 
a species of ice ladder to cling to. But by 
perseverance I succeeded at last in reaching 
the Red Rocks." 

His hopes, however, were doomed to dis- 
appointment, for between him and the 
summit which he so eagerly longed to 
gain was a mighty and steep wall of ice, 
which it would have been impossible to 
have mounted without cutting hundreds of 

"I was stiff with cold," he continues, 
" and nearly dea 1 with fatigue and hunger ; 
and there was nothing for it but to go back. 
But now I felt certain that when I returned, 
as return I would, and given line weather, 
triumph would be mine." 

So he retraced his steps, and when after 

many more hours of peril he regained his 
humble home he was nearly blind, and 
scarcely able to move his limbs. He 
managed to take a little food, however, and 
then he went to sleep, and did not wake 
again for forty-eight hours. 

He allowed several days to pass, during 
which he recouped his strengtn, and kept 
his plans to himself, and he resolved to 
scale the mountain again alone, for now he 
felt absolutely certain that he would succeed 
in reaching the much coveted goal. But 
when he came to reflect, it occurred to him 
that though he did, his story would not be 
believed. He decided, therefore, to take in- 
to his confidence a certain Doctor Paccard, 
with whom he was acquainted, and who, 
unlike all the other people in the valley, 
had not ridiculed his attempts to set his 
foot on the unsullied, white dome that 
soared up into the heavens nearly three 
miles above the sea. 

Doctor Paccard had gained considerable 
reputation in his profession, and was no less 
distinguished as a naturalist and geologist. 
He had often said in Balmat's presence that 
he wished he could gain the summit of 
Mont Blanc, as from that elevated position 
he would be able to see with a glance of 
the eye all the details of the structure of 
the high peaks that surrounded the giant 
of the Alps. So to Paccard the indomitable 
Balmat went, and laid his project before the 
savant, who readily consented to accompany 
him. Quietly and secretly the two made 
their preparations. All being ready, they 
took several other people into their confi- 
dence, and asked them to watch the moun- 
tain with telescopes, and make known their 
success if success crowned their efforts, or 
send assistance in case of accident. 

It was on the 7th of August, 1786, that 
the Doctor and Balmat set off separately, 
so as not to attract attention, but with an 
understanding that they were to meet at 
the foot of the mountain. Each carried his 
own provisions, reduced to the least possible 
weight and size. The first day passed with- 
out anything exciting, and they selected a 
spot under a great block of rock as a resting- 
place for the night. At daybreak they 
made another start and gained the glaciers, 
but lost considerable time in their attempts 
to turn huge crevasses that barred their 
path. At last they arrived at the foot of 
the Grands Mulets, and, after a short rest, 
continued their course towards the Dome 
du G6ut, which they reached by zig-zagging 
up the frozen snow. They crossed the 

U N I V bK_>l I r Ur MLrll'j^.N 



Little Plateau, and mounted over the drbris 
of ice avalanches without accident, and 
found themselves on the Grand Plateau by 
about mid-day. Thence they scaled the ice 
slope known as the Mur de la C6te, and 
after two hours of tremendously hard work 

were pressed by the foot of man, When 
we remember how little was known in those 
days of the physical laws that govern high 
Alpine altitudes, and how ill provided the 
travellers were for such a perilous expedi- 
tion > Paccard's and Balmat's feat is the 

arrived at the Rochers 
Rouge. Up to this 
point they had not suffered much 
fatigue, nor had the rarity of the 
air caused them any inconveni- 
ence. But at this elevated spot 
they found that a terribly bitter wind 
was blowing with great violence from the 
north-east. To remain motionless was to 
be frozen to death on the spot, and so the 
two intrepid men determined to go on. 
But as they advanced their breathing be- 
came laborious, and this, added to fatigue 
and the deathly cold, rendered their posi- 
tion extremelv perilous, But it was triumph 
or death, for having come so far they would 
not return without accomplishing their 
object. Few men would have persevered 
in the face of such difficulties, but Paccard 
and Balmat knew no such word as fail. The 
summit, on which human foot had never 
yet trod, waz above them, and they would 
stand on its virgin snows or die. So up- 
ward and onward they went, the cruel, icy 
wind freezing their very marrow ; but such 
courage, such perseverance, such devotion, 
were bound to meet with their reward, and 
at six o'clock on the evening of August 8 P 
1786, the Colossus of the Alps was beneath 
the feet of the intrepid travellers, and for 
the first time in the history of the world 
the highest snows of the White Mountain 


more remarkable ; and the imperishable 
fame it earned for them was well deserved. 
Although they were entranced with the 
marvellous panorama that was unrolled be- 
fore their eyes, and elated to an extraor- 
dinary degree by their triumph, the two 
brave men were compelled to beat a hasty 
retreat, owing to the intensity of the cold, 
which was rendered unbearable by the high 
wind. And so they retraced their steps, 
and being overtaken with darkness, they 
were forced to pass another night on the 
mountain. The next morning Paccard 's 
eyes were so inflamed with the reflection of 
the snow that he was blind, and had to be 
led by his faithful companion, but they suc- 
ceeded in reaching the village in safety, and 
had the satisfaction of being informed by 
their friends, who had undertaken to keep 
a look-out, that, by the aid of a powerful 
telescope, they had been observed standing 

on the gNRfgfelTY OF MICHIGAN 



The news of the first ascent of the moun- 
tain that had hitherto been deemed abso- 
lutely inaccessible soon spread, and reached 
the ears of the celebrated savant^ De 
Saussure, then a comparatively young man, 
and residing in Geneva, his birthplace. 
Fired with the desire to accomplish the 
ascent himself, and make scientific observa- 
tions from the summit, De Saussure started 
for Chamonix in July, 1787. For nearly 
four weeks, however, the weather was atro- 
cious, and the journey could not be 
attempted. But at last, on August 1, the 
great scientist started with a formidable 
caravan, consisting of a body servant and 
eighteen guides. Besides numerous meteor- 
ological instruments, a large tent was 
carried, and a great quantity of provisions. 
The first night was passed at the foot of the 
mountain, and the second night high up in 
the snows, where some of the guides began 
to funk, and expressed a fear that they 
would all perish, owing to the intense cold, 
which they said no human being could 
stand, notwithstanding Balmat and Pac- 
card had endured it the preceding year. 
De Saussure thereupon told them to make 
a large excavation in the snow, and over 
this the tent was placed. Every opening 
was carefully stopped up, with the result 
that the cold was not felt. But the savant 
himself found the air under the tent insup- 
portable, owing to the heat of the men's 
bodies and their breath, and in the dead of 
night he went outside to breathe the un- 
tainted air of heaven. He says the moon 
was shining with extraordinary brilliancy, 
from a sky of ebony blackness. The scene 
was solemn and impressive, and, though the 
cold was intense, it was not unbearable. 
Early the following morning the journey 
was resumed, and after many hours of 
laborious climbing the summit was gained. 

It was a proud moment for the enthu- 
siastic scientist. His wife, two sisters, and 
a son were in Chamonix, and he had pro- 
mised them that he would signal his success 
by hoisting a flag, and having done this, 
he turned his attention to the study of the 
panorama. He says : — 

"A light vapour was suspended in the 
lower regions, and obstructed the view over 
the plains of France and Lombardy ; but I 
did not much regret this when I saw that 
all the great summits of the peaks I had so 
long desired to know were perfectly clear. 
I could scarcely believe my own eyes. I 
seemed to be in a dream as I gazed on the 
majestic and redoubtable peaks of the 

Digitized by \j>i 

Midi, the Argentifere, and the G6ant, which 
seemed to be at my very feet." 

While De Saussure was surveying the 
wondrous scene, his attendants were busy 
putting up the tent, and arranging the 
instruments, and as soon as they were 
ready, he got to work to record his im- 
pressions and to make observations. But, 
according to his own account, his breathing 
was so difficult that he was compelled to 
repeatedly pause in his labours. Respira- 
tion was short and quick, and the circula- 
tion of the blood was so accelerated that he 
seemed to be in a fever. All his attendants 
suffered more or less in the same way. 

Three hours and a half were spent on 
the 'summit, and preparations were then 
made for the descent, which was accom- 
plished without any great difficulty, and it 
may be said that science was enriched by 
the expedition. 

For twenty-seven years, De Saussure 
says, it had been the dream of his life to 
reach the summit of Mont Blanc, and he 
had accomplished it at last. 

Strangely enough, although tourists now 
began to visit the valley of Chamonix, 
fifteen years passed without an ascent of 
the great mountain being made. Men could 
not altogether get over the fear that the 
" Monarch " inspired them with, and though 
Balmat, Paccard, De Saussure and his nine- 
teen followers had shown the way up, no 
one else was found bold enough to essay 
the climb during those fifteen years, until 
an Englishman by the name of Woolley or 
Woldley undertook it, and reached the 

In 1795 Humboldt was in Chamonix, but 
strangely enough showed no disposition to 
follow in the footsteps of the eminent 
Genevois. After Woldley's there does not 
appear to have been any other ascent until 
1802, when two Swiss accomplished it in 
company with a guide named Victor Tair- 
raz. Seven years later this guide yielded 
to the entreaties of a young woman, named 
Marie Paradis, a native of the valley. She 
was twenty-two years of age, and for a long 
time had tried to induce some of the guides 
to accompany her up Mont Blanc. But 
they had resolutely refused, saying that 
she must be mad to dream of such a 

But Marie was not to be daunted, and 
accompanied by Victor Tairraz, the brave 
and hardy little woman won the proud dis- 
tinction of being the first of her sex to scale 
the snow-clad giant. There was another 




interval of time, and in August, 1820, Cha~ 
monix was visited by a Doctor Hame', in 
the service of the Emperor of Russia, He 
had gone to the valley on a scientific mis- 
sion, and one part of his programme was 
the ascension of Mont Blanc, for which he 
at once began to make preparations, At 
Geneva he had met two English gentlemen, 
who expressed a wish to accompany him, 
to which he gladly assented. Ten guides 
were engaged for the expedition, which 
was destined to be a memorable and a 
disastrous one. One of these guides, 
Joseph Marie Cottet, was still living in 
1865, and we cannot do better than 
give the particulars of this remarkable 
ascent in his own words:— 

"We left Chamonix on Friday, the 
1 8th of August, 1820. Our 
party consisted of the Russian , 
Doctor Hamel, two English- 
men, six guides t and three or 
four porters. We 
made our first 
halt at the rocks 
of the Grands- 
M u 1 e t s . The 
weather was very 
threatening, and 
we were com- 
pelled to remain 
at our resting 
place for twenty- 
four hours. When 
Sunday came the 
weather was no 
better, but Doc- 
tor Hamel said 
that he did not 
intend to miss 
his opportunity, 
and he insisted 
on the journey 
being continued. 
Some of the men, 
however, decided 
to return to Cha- 
monix, and the 
caravan was re- 
duced to ten persons— the three travellers 
and seven guides. We started on our 
upward course at four o'clock in the morn- 
ing. We traversed the Grand Plateau 
with great difficulty owing to the freshly 
fallen snow. We were compelled to go 
in single file, and were constantly menaced 
with avalanches, while detours were neces- 
sary in order to avoid the crevasses of the 
great glaciers. The caravan was led by 

Pierre Balmat, Auguste Tairraz, and Pierre 
Carrier, who had to cut steps in the ice with 
their axes. Suddenly there arose a cry of 
'We are lost!' as a tremendous roar was 
heard over our heads, and we were swept 
down with the rapidity of lightning into 
an abyss six hundred feet below. An 
avalanche had fallen, I recovered my 
senses and regained my feet, and not being 
much hurt I immediately did what I could 



to succour 
ing two arms 
sticking out of 
the snow I went 
for them, and 
found they were the 
arms of my brother, 
David Cottetj whom I 
rescued. We then set 
to try and rescue the 
We saw one of the 
Englishmen— Colonel Anderson 
— emerge from the snow, wring- 
ing his hands in despair, Doctor 
Hamel and the other Englishman 
were also safe, but Pierre Balmat, 
Pierre Carrier, and Auguste 
Tairraz were nowhere to be &en. 
Although our axes and alpen- 
stocks were covered with ice, and 
our fingers were frozen stiff, we 
dug in the snow in search of our 
poor companions until at last 
Doctor Hamel said : * It is useless, 
they will live no more in this 
world. We can do nothing for 
The instinct of self-preservation 
prompted us to lose no time in descending ; 
and with unutterable sorrow we left our 
companions in their nameless graves. Two 
of the victims left wives and families. Great 
indignation was expressed against Doctor 
Hamel for having insisted on continuing 
the ascent in such bad weather, and he lost 
no time in quitting the valley- The two 
Englishmen gave a considerable sum of 



9 6 


money for the families of the victims." 
In one of his ballads Schiller says, "The 
crevasse returns not its prey ; " but science 
was to prove the falsity of this ; for the 
celebrated geologist, Doctor Forbes, pre- 
dicted in 1858 that in about forty years 
from the time of the accident, the great 
glacier where the catastrophe had taken 
place would give up its dead, and this pre- 
diction was strikingly verified. 

On August 15, 1 86 1, it was the National 
fete, and the people were leaving the 
church where a solemn Mass had been 
held, when a Chamonix guide, breathless 
and dust-stained, arrived at the house of 
the Mayor, bearing on his shoulders a sack 
containing a number of human remains. 
He had found them at the tongue of the 
Glacier de Bossous, which streams down 
into the valley from Mont Blanc. An in- 
quiry was at once opened, and a medical 
examination left not a shadow of doubt that 
the remains were those of the guides who 
had perished in a crevasse of the glacier in 
1820. The flesh had been so perfectly 
preserved by the ice that it was lifelike, and 
a leg of mutton which one of the three 
guides had carried, was, when first taken 
out of the ice, absolutely sweet and fresh, 
but on exposure to the air soon went bad. 
Some Of the survivors of the catastrophe 
identified their comrades without any 
difficulty. In addition to these human 
relics, their hats and clothes were recovered, 
also part of a tin lantern, and a wing of a 
pigeon. Doctor Hamel had taken a cage 
of pigeons with him, with a view to liberat- 
ing them at various altitudes. When 
Doctor Hamel heard that the remains had 
been recovered, he cynically suggested they 
should be placed in a museum at Chamonix, 
and they would attract thousands of travel- 
lers to the place. It is needless to say this 
proposal was not carried out, at any rate 
not altogether, for all the remains were 
buried, with the exception of a foot which 
was placed in the museum at Annecy, 
where it may still be ssen under a glass 

In October, 1834, the mountain was 
ascended by Count Henri De Tilly, who 
had formerly been an officer of dragoons. 
He had ascended Etna, and was ambitious 
of doing Mont Blanc. He succeeded, but 
narrowly escaped coming to grief: as it 
was, he and his guides suffered very much, 
and he had his feet frost-bitten. Eighteen 
years after the catastrophe of 1820, a Swiss 
lady, Mademoiselle D'Angeville, expressed 

a desire to emulate Marie Paradis* feat, 
and reach the summit of Mont Blanc. 
Unlike the hardy Marie, who had been 
born and reared amongst the mountains, 
Mademoiselle D'Angeville was a delicate, 
fragile young woman, but of a romantic 
and excitable temperament. Having re- 
solved to attempt the ascent she repaired 
to Chamonix, and changing her feminine 
costume for that of a man she started with 
four guides, and after tremendous fatigue, 
which she bore well, she reached the sum- 
mit, and there she insisted on her guides 
hoisting her on their shoulders in order that 
she might say she had been higher than 
Mont Blanc. This lady died in 1872, at 
the age of 62. 

At intervals between the date of Made- 
moiselle d'Angeville's ascent and 185 1 
there were various ascents, though none 
very noteworthy. But in the latter year 
Albert Smith gained the summit, and after- 
wards popularised — if he did not vulgarise 
— Mont Blanc by his lectures. Three years 
later a third woman — an English lady 
named Hamilton — climbed the mountain ; 
and two years after that event a Miss For- 
man ascended in company with her father ; 
and in 1857 Professor Tyndall added his 
illustrious name to the roll of successful 

The next accident that took place was 
that of 1864, when a young porter named 
Ambroise Couttet lost his life through his 
own stupidity. Refusing to be roped, he 
broke through a crust of snow that covered 
a profound crevasse, and was never seen 
again. A companion, in the hope of re- 
covering the body at least, insisted on 
being lowered into the crevasse by means of 
a rope attached to his waist. He went 
down for eighty feet, but as there were no 
signs of the bottom, and as he was losing 
his breath, owing to the rarity of the air in 
the profound abyss of ice, he signalled to be 
drawn up, and on reaching the surface he 
was greatly exhausted. A bottle attached 
to a cord was next lowered for over two 
hundred feet, but without touching the 
bottom. When it was drawn up again it 
was thickly encased in ice, thereby proving 
that no human being could long survive in 
that icy tomb. 

In 1866 the Great Mountain again ex- 
acted his tribute of victims, but this acci- 
dent was also due to foolhardiness. In 
that year Sir George Young and his two 
brothers, James and Albert, insisted on 
making the ascent without guides. They 




succeeded in 
reaching what is 
now known as 
"The Corridor," 
when they slip- 
ped and shot 
down an ice 
slope for about 
i, 800 feet. Two 
of them were 
but little injured 
by this fearful 
fall, but the 
third was killed. 
The accident 
was witnessed 
from Chamonix 
by means of 
the telescopes, 
which are al- 
ways directed 
towards the 
mountain when 
an ascent is 
being made, and 
a rescue party 
was at once 
organised, and 
set off. They 
succeeded in re- 
covering the 
body, but not 
without run- 
ning grave risks, 
and at one time 
another catas- 
trophe seemed 

A terribly sad 
event was that 
of the 1 2th of 
October, 1866. 
A Captain Ark- 
wright, accom- 
panied by his mother and two sisters, visited 
Chamonix at the beginning of October 
of that year. The weather was excep- 
tionally fine, and the captain expressed a 
desire to ascend the mountain. The pre- 
parations were made, and very early in the 
morning of the 12th he started with his 
sister, who was to remain at the Grands 
Mulcts sketching. The chief guide was 
•Sylvain Couttet ; the second, a man named 
Simond ; and, in addition, there were two 
porters. The party reached the cabane of 
the Mulets without adventure. After a short 
rest the men went on, leaving Miss Ark- 
wright at the cabane. The caravan suc- 


ceeded in gaining the steep slope which 
leads to the Grand Plateau, when an enor- 
mous overhanging mass of ice became 
detached, and, starting an avalanche, Cap- 
tain Arkwright, Simond, and the two por- 
ters were swept into a profound crevasse. 
Sylvain Couttet escaped by making a pro- 
digious leap, which took him clear of the 
track of the avalanche. When he had 
recovered from the shock, he searched for 
his companions, and, to his horror, he saw 
the body of Simond absolutely crushed to 
pieces by the ice. The others were nowhere 
to be seen. He at once descended to the 
cabane, where Miss Arkwright was sitting 
on the rocks sketching the dome. Unable 
to conceal his horror and grief, she guessed 
the truth, for she had heard the avalanche 
fall. The scene that ensued in that awful 
solitude can be better imagined than de- 
scribed. The bodies of the captain and the 
two porters were never recovered. The 
great glacier kept its prey, but will give 
them up some day. 

Of all the dark, sad years that are woven 
into the human story connected with Mont 
Blanc, that of 1870 is the darkest and 
saddest. It was a year of bitterness for 
France, and her tourist and health resorts 
were deserted, or nearly so. A few people 
found their way to Chamonix, and amongst 
them were an American gentleman named 
Mark, his wife, and sister-in-law, Miss 
Wilkinson. They started to ascend the 
Great White Mountain on August 2, 
accompanied by only two guides. By the 
time the Grands Mulets was reached the 
two ladies were suffering from great fatigue, 
and the keeper of the cabane offered the 
services of his porter — a young man named 
Olivier Gay — as Mr. Mark had determined 
to proceed. Gay was accepted, and all 
went well until "The Corridor " was reached, 
when the ladies were so exhausted that they 
could go no further. Gay thereupon under- 
took to conduct them back to the cabane, 
and Mark and his two guides continued 
upwards. In a short time, however, the 
echoes of the icy world were awakened by 
the piercing scream of a woman. The 
men turned, and saw Miss Wilkinson 
wringing her hands in frenzy ; Gay and 
Mrs. Mark were nowhere to be seen. They 
had both fallen into a crevasse, and their 
bodies were never recovered. Mrs. Mark 
was the first woman the mountain had 
claimed as his victim. This sad event, 
however, was but the prelude to a more 
tragedy a month later. Two 

ghastly tragedy 


9 8 


American gentlemen — Mr* John Randall 
and Mr, Joseph Bean, of Baltimore— in 
company with a Mn McCorkindale, a 
Scotch minister from Gourock, ascended 
the mountain with three guides and five 
porters. The weather was exceptionally 
fine, and the summit waft readied without 
adventure. But suddenly a cloud descended. 
It was the falling of the curtain on the 
lives of all those eleven men. The cloud 
became a dense fog, and a tour men te arose. 
Night came, out the ill-starred caravan had 
not returned to the cabane. During eight 
days the storm continued, and the fog shut 
out everything. All attempts at succour 
were absolutely impossible. Men could not 
live on he cruel mountain in that tour- 
mentCy nor could they find their way in the 
dense mist. At last, when the weather 
changed, a search party went out. Lying 
in the snow, near the summit, and as if 
they were all asleep, were ten bodies, in- 
cluding the three travellers, three guides, 
and four porters* They had all been frozen 
to death. The body of the eleventh man 


was never found. It is supposed he had 
made an endeavour to jet back to the 
cabane to obtain succour, and had perished 
in a crevasse. In the pocket of Mr. Bean 
was a diary, in which he had continued to 
make notes until the cold had frozen his 
hands and feet and he could write no more. 
The last entry is terrible in its pathos : — 

" We have nothing to eat ; my feet are 
already frozen, and I am dying, I have 
only the strength to write a few more 

words, ... I die with faith in God, and 
my last thoughts are of you (his wife). 
Adieu to all. I hope we shall meet in 

The leading guide was an intrepid fellow, 
named Jean Balmat, a descendant of the 
renowned family of guides. It was his 
fortieth ascent but all his experience and 
all his courage could avail nothing against 
the mighty forces of Nature. The mountain 
was in a sullen mood, and he exacted the 
penalty of all those lives. 

It is pleasant to turn from this tragedy 
to a more romantic page in the story. A 
young lady. Miss Isabella St rat on, who had 
already made three summer ascents, was 
ambitious of gaining the summit in winter. 
Possessed of indomitable courage and extra- 
ordinary powers of endurance, she was un- 
deterred by the cui r ent stories of in-uppnrt- 
able cold, and she started from Cham on ix 
on the morning of January 28, 1 876, accom- 
panied by two guides— one of them being 
Jean Charlet, who had already greatly distin- 
guished himself as a mountaineer — and two 

porters. They left 
Grands Mulcts the 
following morning, 
and had proceeded 
some distance when 
one of the porters 
fell into a crevasse. 
After considerable 
difficulty he was 
rescued, very con- 
siderably bruised 
and battered. The 
party were con- 
sequently neces- 
sitated to return 
to the cabane and 
spend another 
night there. A 
fresh start was 
made on the fol- 
lowing day, the 
wounded porter 
being left behind. 
The summit was successfully gained ; the 
day being magnificent in its clearness, but 
the cold was fearful, 29 degrees of Reaumur 
being marked. Both Miss Straton and 
Guide Charlet were frostbitten, and only 
a few minutes could be ?pent on the dome. 
This intrepid lady accomplished a double 
feat that day, for she won a husband also. 
She fell in love with her guide, Jean Charlet, 
and married him. , Bging wealthy and well 
connected, she raised her husband from the 




level of a peasant to a position of affluence. 
They have built themselves a beautiful 
house in the valley of Chamonix, where 
they permanently reside with their family. 
A few years later a man with a wooden 
leg attempted to reach the summit^ and 
nearly succeeded, but became prostrated 
with exhaustion, and had to be carried 
down. Then a blind man went up ; not 
for the sake of w T hat he could see, but for 
the sake of what he could say. De gustibus 
nojt est disputandum ! And the most 
recent thing in the way of eccentricities is 
the ascent by a scientist, who, being lame, 
was taken up by a number of guides on a 
sort of sledge, A proposition has been 
seriously made of late year?; to establish an 
observatory on the summit of the Monarch, 

its physical features are the same now as 
they were thousands of years ago. Stupen- 
dous solitudes of snow and ice, and fearful 
slopes down which the avalanches thunder ? 
tremendous crevasses, towering seracs, 
mighty precipices — these remain, and pro- 
bably will remain, for all time. They 
represent Nature in her sublimest aspect j 
and though the mountain were ascended 
by forty people every day, it could never be 
vulgarised. The grandeur, the weirdness t 
the majesty, the might are there, and no- 
thing can detract from them. Owing to the 
intimate knowledge 
that has been gained 
of the mountain, 
and the means that 
have been provided 


But it is doubtful whether the proposition 
will ever take practical shape. The initial 
engineering difficulties would probably be 
overcome ; but the enormous accumula- 
tions of snow would entirely bury any con- 
struction of the kind, even if the tourmentes 
which rage round that lofty peak did not 
carry it bodily away. 

At the present day the ascent of Mont 
Blanc has become very popular, and on an 
average there are about forty ascents a year. 
It has been said in consequence that the 
mountain is vulgarised, but that can never 
be. It is on too vcivt and grand a scale, and 

for shelter, the difficulties of the ascent 
are now reduced to a minimum. On 
the Grands Mulets — to which reference 
has frequently been made in this paper 
— a rough hut has long existed, ;md has 
recently been improved. The Grands 
Mulets is a mass of rock that rises up 
from a stern wilderness of ice and snow* 
On a ledge of this rock the cabane has 
been erected. It is in charge of a man in 
the summer months, and is provided w ith 
primitive sleeping accommodation, while 
limited quantities of provisions are obtain- 
able. The ascent to the Grands Mulets is 




over much broken up and crevassed glaciers 
lying at a steeple angle. The rocks of the 
Grands Mulets are io,ooq feet above the 
level of the sea. About seven hours are 
required to gain the summit from the 
cabane. Last year the well-known French 
savanty Monsieur Vallot, caused to be 
erected at his own expense a substantial 
hut under what is known as the Bosses, 
not far from the summit, his object being 
to afford the means for scientific observa- 
tion. But it will also prove a boon to 
mountaineers j and render such a tragedy as 
that of 1870 almost impossible* The hut 
consists of two apartments, one being 
reserved for scientific instruments ; the 
other is for the use of travellers, The 
rooms are warmed by means of oil stoves, 
and a good supply of blankets is provided. 
The hut is built of wood, surrounded with 
loose stone walls, and several lightning 
conductors are affixed to the roof. From 
this shelter the summit can be gained in 
about an hour and a quarter. 

It will not be inappropriate to close this 
paper with a few particulars of the death of 
Jacques BahnaL His triumph over Mont 
Blanc brought him fame, though not 
riches. Of a restless and ambitious disposi- 
tion, he wanted to know more of the world 
than he could leztfh about it in his own 
mountain -enclosed valley. So he set out 
to travel, and amongst other places visited 
London. When he returned once more to 
his beloved mountains he conceived the idea 
that gold was to be found amongst them, 
and in his hunt for the precious metal he 
undertook many perilous and hazardous 
expeditions, but hts dreams were not 
realised, and though he was pursuing a 
phantom his thirst for riches grew. 

In 1834, al- 
though an old 
man, his passion 
for climbing had 
not diminished ; 
and having heard 
that gold had 
once been found 
in the valley of 
Sixt, to the north- 
west of Chamo- 
nix, he set off to 
explore that wild 
region, and nar- 
rowly escaped 
coming to grief- 
He returned to 
his home discon* 

solate. But soon after something induced 
him to ' more visit S:xt, where he asso- 
ciated himself with a noted chamois hunter, 
and the two pursued their investigations 
amongst the high peaks that shut in the 
valley. One day Balmat, in spite of the en- 
treaties of his comrade, insisted on crossing 
an overhanging ledge of snow. He had not 
gone many yards, however, when the snoiv 
cornice gave way, and Balm at disappeared, 
falling a depth of more than 400 feet on to 
jagged and splintered rocks, in a tremendous 
abyss, and on a spot that was incessantly 
bombarded with ice avalanches. His death 
must have been instantaneous. For a long 
time the chamois hunter concealed the 
truth, fearing that the accident might lead 
to others discovering the supposed gold 
mine. But after a while Balmat 's sons and 
other members of his family, becoming un- 
easy at his absence, set off to look for him, 
and subsequently the hunter related the 
story of the accident. Attempts were made 
to recover the body, but had to be given up, 

For nineteen years no other attempt was 
made, but in 1853 a strong desire was ex- 
pressed by the people of Chamonix that 
the remains of the celebrated mountaineer 
should, if possible, be recovered and accorded 
Christian burial. 

In pursuance of this object a very strong 
body of the best guides set off for Sixt, and 
at last, but only with extreme difficulty, 
they reached the spot from whence Balmat 
had fallen. It was then seen that no mortal 
power could recover the body, owing to 
the avalanches of rock and ice that in- 
cessantly fell into the horrible abyss that 
had become Jacques Bal mat's grave. A 
fitting one, surely, for so true a mountaineer ! 
He sleeps quietly enough in those profound 

depths, and the 

thunder of 
avalanche is 


MONUMENT TO JAQUES V A U MAT AKD BE * A FffiN WfrT FT^fflP*?! * I f |-|f? ^ **W 

requiem ; while 

the magnmcent, 
great, white 
mountain, now 
known as Mont 
Blanc, is hts eter- 
nal monument! 
which shall en- 
dure until the 
great globe itself 
dissolves and 
passes away! 
Surely no man 
ever had a grand- 

t;RM|U/ t ft*t 

An Arabian Tale for Children. 

From the French ok M. P. Granal. 

AJEB was a youth of Cairo, 
who had inherited from his 
father a fortune of about two 
thousand piastres* Had he 
invested his little capital in 
trade, and had he been indus- 
trious, he might have done very well ; but 
shortly after his father's death he must 
needs fall in love with a beautiful girl, and 
then he could think of nothing else. He 
had met the maiden accidentally at the 
fountain of a mosque, and she had drawn 
aside her veil for a moment in order to 
drink. She was plainly dressed, and ap- 
peared to belong to &ome humble but 
respectable family. As soon as she became 
aware of the young man's admiring gaze 
she replaced her veil with modest haste, 
and hurried away, not once looking back- 
ward over her shoulder, which showed that 
she was no coquette. Rajeb followed her 
and saw her enter a small house, of the 
kind occupied by middle-class folk, He 
had fallen in love at first sight, and lost no 
time in making inquires concerning his 
enchantress. He could learn no more of 
her, however, than the fact that she was as 
good as she was beautiful, 


He then called upon her parents, and 
boldly asked them to give him their 
daughter in marriage. They seemed not 
averse to the match, hut when the subject 
of her dowry was discussed } he was 
astounded to hear that they demanded of 
their daughter's husband no less than five 
thousand piastres In vain the disconcerted 
lover protested that such a sum was beyond 
Ins means ; he was told that he must either 
pay the money or lose the girl. As the 
latter alternative was intolerable, he begged 
that they would allow him a few days' 
delay. This request was granted, but if, 
said the parents, he did not appear within 
the appointed time, they should consider 
themselves at liberty to accept other pro- 

Rajeb, as he returned to his home, re- 
proached himself for having idled away his 
past time. " Ah ! " he said to himself, "if 
only I had worked hard, I might now liave 
been rich enough to purchase my happi- 
ness! 1 ' He took out his money and 
counted it again and again, but no amount 
of counting or of wishing would make it 
more than two thousand piastres. He went 
to bed, but could not sleep for thinking of 
possible ^nd impossible ways and means of 
procuring the rest of the money, At last a 
plan that setmsd feasible presented itself 




to his mind. There lived at Tantah an 
old uncle, whom he had not seen for 
eighteen years, and who was said to be rich* 
"I will look him up," thought Rajeb, u and 
beg of him to lend me the three thousand 
piastres ; he will not, surely, refuse ! ?T And 
he longed for the day, that he might set out 
upon this hopeful quest. 

Morning dawned 
at length, and Rajeb 
started on his jour- 
ney. In order both 
to be and to appear 
economical, he 
walked all the way. 
Just as he reached 
the first houses of 
Tantah,he met some 
boys, of whom he in- 
quired for his uncle, 
11 the rich Jousoff." 
"The rich Jousoff!" 
echoed they, in de- 
rision ; " say, rather, 
* the beggarly old 
miser Jousoff,' who 
hates to fling away 
a bone after he has 
picked it clean, " 

At these words 
the youth's heart 
sank within him. However, he asked one 
of the lads to take him to his uncle's house* 
There he beheld a withered, ragged, dirty 
old man, who saluted him roughly with — 

M What do you want ? Tt 

4t Oh, dear uncle I ,T exclaimed Rajeb; 
M do you not remember me ? I am vour 
sister's son, Rajeb — little 
Rajeb, whom you used to 
love. 1 1 ve come to see 


were to be seen. Rajeb, however, was good- 
humoured and apparently contented, The 
two supped that evening upon a morsel of 
detestable cheese and some crusts of coarse, 

black bread, The 
cheese was an un- 
usual luxury, pro- 
cured especially for 
the occasion, and the 
neighbours who saw 
the old man go out 
and buy it could 
scarcely believe their 

Rajeb was not 
accustomed to rich 
fare, but after his 
toilsome journey he 
really stood in need 
of a good substantial 
supper. When the 
meagre meal was 
ended, he tried to 
guide the conversa- 
tion into a channel 
suitable for the in- 
troduction of his 
request* The old 
man quickly under- 
stood his hints. 
Anticipating his 
purpose, he cried, *'I am a beggar! No 
dervish is poorer than I ! All the world 
robs me, I have spent my last para upon a 
supper for you, I am ruined ! " By glow- 
ing descriptions of the girl's beauty and his 
own passion of love for her, Rajeb strove in 
vain to soften the miser T s heart. Finding 



14 quite 

you. How are 
V uncle?" 

"Oh, Fm quite 
said the old man 
well, but very poor- 
shall be unable to offer you 
very splendid hospitality." 

"What of that?" re- 
turned Rajeb, cheerfully, 
" Both riches and poverty 
come from heaven." 

Thus conversing, they 
entered JousofTs room, 
which was exceedingly 
dark and dingy, and con- 
tained no furniture but an 
old mat and a jar of water. 
Neither pipes nor coffee 

Digitized by 




that he could make no impression upon 
that stony organ, he rose at length, and, 
muttering something about needing a 
breath of fresh air, went out to conceal his 
intense disappointment and chagrin. 

Outside the house, a lean ass was lying 
in a small shed munching some miserable 
scraps of straw, Rajeb, \Vho loved animals, 
pitied the poor, starved creature ; and, after 
caressing him, went to a shop and bought 
some barley, which he gave him, together 
with a drink of water. After that, he 
returned to his uncle's house, in which he 
spent a most uncomfortable night, lying 
upon the floor. In the morning, after 
another wretched repast, the nephew was 
about to take his leave when Jousoff 
remarked : " I have an ass which is of no 
use to me. It is all the property left to me, 
and if you like you may — accompany me to 
the market, and see me sell it. TT Rajeb 
agreed to the proposal, and they went 
together to the ass T s stall. The 
young man bestowed another caress 
upon the poor animal, which 
looked at him with strangely mean- 
ing-full eyes, and struck 
the ground with his foot 
several times. He seemed 
to Rajeb to say, u Buy 

All the way to the 
market, our hero was de- 
bating within himself as 
to whether or no he should 
buy the ass, in answer to 
his mute appeal. Some- 
thing — he knew not what, 
unless it were a feeling of 
compassion — strongly im- 
pelled him to do so. When 
the little party had reached 
their destination^ several 
would-be purchasers pre- 
sented themselves, for the 
animal was young and had 
no other fault than the 
skinniness produced by 
starvation. One said he 
would give two hundred 
piastres, another offered 
three hundred, another 
five hundred, Rajeb, per- 
ceiving that his uncle was 
willing to take the last- 
named sum, offered a few 
piastres more, making sure 
that he should now 
the ass. 

H What on earth do yon want with the 
beast ? ? ' inquired his avaricious relative. 

(l I am resolved to possess it,'* replied 

" Well, then/ 1 said the old man, with a 
greedy look, " give me a thousand piastres, 
and it shall be yours." 

And , as by this time the youth felt that 
at any cost (although he knew not why) he 
must have the ass, he agreed at length even 
to this exorbitant demand ; the bargain 
was concluded. 

As nearly all RajeVs money was at 
Cairo, he invited his uncle to accompany 
him thither, in order to get his piastres. 
Since he had changed masters, the ass 
seemed a different creature, and fairly 
danced to the city. There Rajeb duly 
handed over to his uncle the stipulated 
sum, and entertained him very hospitably 
for a few days, after which Jousoff said 
farewell, and departed to his own home. 

get ,W-v 

by Google 


Original fronj 



His nephew at once set to work making a 
stall for his new possession, which enjoyed 
now an abundance of food and careful 
tending. Meanwhile, the poor old miser, 
homeward-bound, had been attacked, plun- 
deredj and slain by 
highway robbers. 
When the news 
reached the ears of 
kind-hearted Rajeb, 
he shed a tear over 
his uncle's sad fate, 
and set off again for 
Tantah. He was next- 
of-kin to the dead 
man, but with the re- 
membrance of his 
recent visit fresh in 
his mind, he did not 
expect to reap much 
benefit from his heir- 
ship, notwithstanding 
the reputation for 
wealth which Jousoff 
had acquired , 

This time, Rajeb 
rode upon his ass. 
After putting up his 
steed in his old stall, 
he proceeded to search 
the house. In that 
miserable hovel, not a 
para, not a single thing of any value, was 
to be found. All the time that Rajeb was 
examining the premises, the ass whined 
and brayed. Thinking he needed food and 
drink, his master went out several times, 
and fetched him straw, water, and barley ; 
but they lay untouched, and the animal 
continually stamped with his foot upon the 
floor of the stall. 

An idea occurred to Rajeb. " Why do 
you do that?" said he 7 whereupon the 
ass stamped still more vigorously than 
before. His master, seizing a rusty iron 
bar which lay near, began to turn up the 
ground, the ass looking on with evident 
pleasure and satisfaction, his wonderfully 
expressive eyes seeming to say : u That is 
right ! Go on ; it is there. 1 ' And presently, 
Rajeb discovered a coffer ! When he opened 
it, he found, to his unspeakable delight, 
that it was filled with doubloons, sequins, 
and precious coins of every sort. Still the 
ass would not allow him to rest. Again — 
this time in another spot — he beat the 
ground with his foot, Rajeb eagerly obeyed, 
and his digging soon brought to light 



another coffer, full of rubies, pearls, eme- 
ralds, and other magnificent gems. The 
ass appeared now perfectly satisfied, and 
stamped no more, 

Upon the back of the willing beast, the 
treasure — a heavy 
load — was quickly 
carried to Cairo. Rajeb 
hastened to his lady's 
house, and was just 
in time to prevent her 
marriage with an old 
Turk who had agreed 
to give the five thou- 
sand piastres de- 
manded by her par- 
ents. Rajeb had only 
to exhibit to the father 
a very small part of his 
acquisition in order to 
induce him to break 
off the projected 
match, and bestow his 
daughter upon such a 
highly desirable 
husband as the once rejected suitor had 
now become. 

The wedding took place immediately, 
and Kajcb and his wife lived most happily 
together for many years. The ass which 
had brought such good fortune was 
treated always as a 
dear friend, and the only 
task imposed upon him 
was that of sometimes 
carrying his mistress 
and" her children. 
Everyone loved and 
petted him, and he 
lived in clover until 
the end of his days. 

by L^OOgle 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things. 

Adapted prom the French of J. Soudan. 


]ROM New York to Toronto, 
and from the Niagara Falls 
to Cleveland, wherever you 
travel you may hear from the 
railway officials the story of 
li Bill Erie "—that noble soul 
who died rather than disgrace his craft. 

Bill got his second name from the Lake 
Erie Railway, the property of the Vander- 
bilts, whereon h^ was employed as porter. 
He had held the trunk-smashing champion- 
ship of America for many years. He had 
broken all the records as well as all the 
boxes. Ordinarily clever porters smashed 
their thousands — Bill smashed his tens of 
thousands. No patent iron-bound trunk 
had terrors for Bill — he smashed them all ; 
while, as for ordinary portmanteaux and 
hat-boxes, he just annihilated them collec- 
tively in batches. You couldn't get ahead 
of Bill. 

It is a sad thing, though, to think that 
even Bill was beaten at last. Everybody, 
even the boldest, meets his Waterloo some 
day. Still one may be pardoned a manly 
tear for poor Bill Erie. That he should 
have died, and by the treachery of a fellow 
porter ! 

The box that caused all the trouble was 

a plain-looking, old-fashioned box enough, 
although pretty stout. Bill Erie smiled to 
look at it. 4( I guess I could break up that 
lot with kid gloves on/* he said. 

He lifted it, that strong* noble man, as 
high as the crown of his head. f Then he 
let it fall with a mighty bang. 

There was something wrong. A little 
chip flew out of the concrete platform, but 
the box lay uninjured. " That's a'mighty 
queer/ 1 said Bill. "Reckon I'll have to 
boot it." Then he raised his foot — that 
mighty foot, clad in a boot which would go 
through a brick wall of its own weight. 

He kicked. Everybody within hearing 
jumped a foot high at the shock. There 
was a slight mark on one side of the box ; 
that was all. Then he kicked again . This 
time he hurt his big toe. Then he tried all 
his regular dodges, and even executed his 
famous war-dance on the lici — that war- 
dance which had, again and again, burst in 
a new burglar -proof safe. But he knocked 
a piece of iron off one boot and hurt his 
feet on that solid mass. After that he went 







home, disappointed, rage gnawing at his 

All night he lay in anguish. That he, 
the champion smasher, should fail at an 
ordinary wooden box was bad enough, but 


the noble fellow felt most for the reputation 
of his employers. That any package should 
e&cape uninjured from that line would 
involve a loss of prestige terrible to think 

Next morning, wearied and dispirited, 
he borrowed a sledge-hammer. Taking 
the box into a quiet corner, and divesting 
himself of his coat, he took a mighty swing 
with the hammer, and brought it down 
with all his force upon the lid. The ham- 
mer-head flew into a million fragments, 
and the shaft jerked away into space. The 
box actually seemed to smile at him- Poor 
Bill went sorrowfully away, and, leaving a 
request that the box be still kept at the 
station (for, at least, he could delay it), he 
paid for the sledge-hammer and took to his 
bed. It was as well he did* For he 
was so down in the mouth as quite to 
lose his regular form, and probably 
would have failed at an ordinary 

After a while, however, a notion 
struck Bill. He jumped up and bolted 
downstairs shouting " Eureka ! " Poor 
Bill didn't know what the word meant, 
you see, but he had a sort of general 
notion that it was the correct thing to 

shout when you ran downstairs without 
waiting to dress. He went back, however, 
and put on his uniform, because it struck 
him that the thing should be done in style, 
and with all proper form and ceremony. 
Then he went off to the depot, feeling J ike 
a new man. 

He dragged the trunk a little along the 
line, and shoved it across the rails just as 
the late express came up. Then he lay by 
and waited. 

Presently the express came along. Bill 
sat up and looked for his vindication. 
There was a rush, a roar of fifty 
thunders, and the engine passed by 
with the cow catcher smashed off. 
Bill didn't trouble about the train, 
but rushed for the fragments of the 

Weep, O mountains of Adiron- 
dack ! Howl, O mighty cat a wam- 
pus of the prairie ! There lay the 
bcx without a mark ! A little 
longer, and perhaps a little flatter, 
Bill fancied, but then Bill's mind 
was a bit disordered, you see. 

Then Bill Erie's heroism came 
out strong, 

" A mighty conqueror cannot 
survive a defeat/* he said, " I have 
hitherto been conqueror among the de- 
stroyers of trunks, I will die, but my 
enemy shall perish with me." 

With all his remaining strength the noble 
fellow dragged that box to the very top of 




the high tower on 
Bunker's Hill, and 
then, with his eyes 
closed and the box 
firmly clasped in hi* 
arms, he threw him- 
self down, down, down 
to death. 

From New York 
to Toronto, and from 
the Niagara Falls to 
Cleveland, all good 
railway men revere 
the memory of Bill 

The trunk did not 
break in the terrible 
fall that killed poor 
Bill. After his death, 
the secret came out. 
You see* Sam Slutters, 

the next best trunk-smasher on the line 
(who was a mean skunk, for all his good 
qualities) had a great jealousy of Bilk So 
he just put that box in his way after he had 


filled it tight full 
with sandwiches and 
buns from an English 
railway refreshment 
room, and riveted 
the sides firmly bo 
the adamantine con- 

Nobody could do 
anything with that 
box, so they put a 
brass plate on it and 
stuck it over Bill's 
head by way of a 
gravestone. On the 
brass plate the follow- 
ing epitaph (adapted 
from the Greek of 
Thermopylae) has 
been engraved : — 
11 Passer - fy } tell 
Vanderbilt) the king of the railroads of 
the New World, that Bill Erte dted to 
avenge the honour of the Railway Com- 

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Original from 

A Romance from a Detectives Case -Boob 

t \ i - 

By Dick Donovan, 

Author of « The Man from Msmhtdtr* *< TradM to Doom* ** Caught at Last" "if ho Po ; xmtd Hetty 
Duncan" "A Detectives Triumphs" "In the Gtif of the Law," ^r., frc r 

S everyone knows, the late 
Lord Mid die wick had a per- 
fect craze for collecting rare 
gerns and works of art ; and, 
being a man of unbounded 
wealth, he was enabled to 
gratify his tastes to his heart's content. His 
cabinet of precious stones was considered 
to be unique in its way, and contained the 
very rarest specimens of the world's gems, 
including some truly magnificent diamonds 
and pearls. His lordship, however, always 
considered that the collection was imperfect, 
owing to the absence of a good specimen of 
the very peculiar stone known generally as 
the catVeye, on account of its close resem- 
blance, both as regards colour and iri- 
descence, to pussy's optic. This gem seems 
to be peculiar to the island of Ceylon, but 
it is seldom that a really good specimen 
is ^discovered. Through some cause that 
has never been satisfactorily explained, the 
cat's-eyes have certain flaws in them, par- 
ticularly as regards their iridescence, which 
not only greatly depreciate their value, but 
cause them to be rejected by collectors. It 
hail long been Lord Middlewick's ambition 
to say that he was the possessor of the 
most perfect catVeye in the world ; but, 
though he had practically ransacked Europe 
—in fact, it might be said that he had 

ransacked the world itself — he had not 
succeeded in obtaining what he wished. 
At last a report went the round of the 
papers that a catVew had been discovered 
in Ceylon that was absolutely without a 
flaw. It was said to be as large as a hen's 
egg, and of such magnificent colour that it 
was peerless, and was roughly valued at 
fifty thousand pounds. It was announced 
that several offers had been made for it, 
but undoubtedly it would pass into the 
possession of Lord Middle wick, whose agent 
was already on his way to Ceylon, and was 
instructed to secure the gem at any cost. 

Four months passed, when there as- 
sembled at Lord Middlewick's spit n lid 
mansion in Berkshire a large number of 
ladies and gentlemen, including many well- 
known experts, who had been specially 
invited to have the first view of the now 
renowned cat's-eye, which had arrived the 
day previous, in charge of his lordship's 
representative, Mr + Lionel Ashburton, the 
son of General Ashburton, who distin- 
guished himself so much during the Indian 
Mutiny. Mr. Ashburton was well known 
as an authority on precious stones, and his 
famous work, "The World's Great Gems/' 
which cost years of research, is still con- 
sidered the standard book of its kind. Mr. 
Ashburton hfld^itpg^out to Ceylon to 




examine and report on the treasure. That 
report being favourable, he had purchased 
it for his lordship. 

There was a brilliant gathering in what 
was called the " Green Tapestry Chamber " 
of his lordship's house. On the table was 
placed a small iron box, sealed with seals, 
and triply secured by means of iron bands 
and padlocks. AH was excitement and 
eagerness to behold the new acquisition to 
the collection, which, it was now admitted, 
would be the most marvellous collection 
ever got together by one individual. With 
a great deal of ceremony his lordship pro- 
ceeded to break the seals, which were all 
impressed with the stamp of the house of 
Jeeheboy, Lalam, Goosh & Co. Then the 
tapes were cut, the padlocks undone, and 
the lid of the outer box duly opened. In 
this box was another one, which was also 
locked and sealed ; and this being lifted 
out and placed on the table, it was opened 
with no less ceremony in the presence of 
the assembled company. In this second 
box was what might be described as the 
kernel ; it was a carved case of sandalwood, 
secured with ribbon, and also sealed. The 
seals were broken, the lid opened, and, 
amidst the most intense excitement, the 
stone was lifted out and placed on a bed of 
spotless white wool, laid on a silver salver. 
But instantly the countenances of all pre- 
sent fell, and there was a general murmur 
of astonishment and disappointment ; for 
the stone that the people gazed upon 
appeared to be nothing more than a com- 
mon, colourless pebble, such as might be 
picked up on a sea beach. His lordship 
turned to Mr. Ashburton, and said — 

44 There is something wrong here, surely. 
What does this mean ? " 

44 My God ! " exclaimed Mr. Ashburton, 
who had become deadly pale, " the great 
^ cat's eye has been stolen ! " 

It is far more easy to imagine the con- 
sternation this exclamation caused than to 
describe it. Mr. Ashburton was so over- 
come that he fainted, thereby adding to the 
confusion which the startling discovery 
had caused. And Lord Middlewick, apolo- 
gising to his guests for the unexpected 
denouement, despatched the following tele- 
gram to me — 

44 Come down here immediately. If 
necessary, engage a special train." 

This was done, and as soon as I reached 
the mansion, and my presence was an- 
nounced, his lordship came hurriedly to 
me, and conducted me to his library. He 

was evidently labouring under considerable 
excitement and distress. 

He was a little, middle-aged man, with a 
most intellectual face, and small, keen grey 
eyes that had a habit of fixing one, as it 
were. As he shook me by the hand with 
that cordiality that was so characteristic of 
him, he said, with strong emotion manifest- 
ing itself in his voice — 

i4 I have sent for you, Donovan, as the 
only man I know of who is likely to be of 
service in this extraordinary case. A stone 
of enormous value — a great cat's-eye, for 
which I have paid an almost fabulous sum 
— has been stolen. " 

He then proceeded to give me all the 
particulars as I have detailed them at the 
beginning of my story, and, when he had 
finished, he asked me what my opinion was. 

44 It is curious, " I remarked thoughtfully. 

44 Curious ! " he echoed excitedly. 44 It 
is something more than curious ; it's one 
of the most extraordinary cases I've ever 
known, and seems to me to admit of but 
one solution." 

44 And what is that, my lord ? " I asked. 

44 Well — Ashburton can, if he likes to 
open his lips, tell us what has become of 
the stone." 

44 You impute dishonesty to Ashburton, 
my lord ? " I remarked. 

44 In plain words — yes." 

44 1 should like to see Mr. Ashburton." 

His lordship rang the bell, and a servant 

44 Tell Mr. Ashburton to come here," was 
the order that his lordship gave ; and, when 
the servant had retired to execute the 
command, I turned to Lord Middlewick, 
and said — 

44 1 must ask you, my lord, to leave the 
room during my interview with Mr. 

His lordship did not seem very well 
pleased ; but, shrugging his shoulders, he 
remarked, 4l Oh, very well, as^you like." 

A few minutes later, Mr. Ashburton came 
in. He was a very gentlemanly, quiet- 
looking man, with a frank, open coun- 
tenance that immediately impressed me in 
his favour. He was extraordinarily pale, 
and looked worried and anxious. He 
seemed a little surprised at seeing me — a 
stranger to him — in the room, and said in 
a somewhat confused way — 

44 1 thought Lord Middlewick was here." 

44 No, he has retired by my request. " 

44 Indeed ; and may I ask what your 
name is ? " 




" Certainly. My name is Donovan — 
Dick Donovan. I am a professional detec- 
tive ; and have been requested by his lord- 
ship to try and recover the stolen cat's- 
eye. But, now, I want you to answer me 
a few questions, Mr. Ashburton. Did you 
see the catVeye packed ? " 

"I did." 

" You actually saw it put into the box ? n 

"Undoubtedly I did," 

tt Who was present at the time? " 

41 Mr. Jeeheboy, Mr. Goosh, of the 
firm of Jeeheboy, Lalam, Goosh & Co,, 
from whom the gem was purchased ; and 
Mr + Samuel Prince, head of the Colombo 
banking firm, Prince, Halford & Payne." 

M Was anyone else present ? " 

w There were two clerks, natives, whose 
names I do not know." 

"And you have no doubt in your own 
mind that the real stone was placed in the 
box ? " 

M Not the slightest doubt. I am abso- 
lutely certain it was," 

" You then saw the box sealed ? " 

"I did." 

u Was it ever out of your presence, 
between the putting in of the stone and 
the sealing ? n 

" Not for a single instant/ 1 

"Then, unless you were the victim of 
some strange optical illusion, you are abso- 

lutely convinced that the real stone was put 
into the box l and the box sealed in your 
presence ? T1 

"I am absolutely convinced that such 
was the case. T> 

11 What was done after that ? * 
il The package was handed into my cafe, 
and I gave a receipt for it." 
il And after?" 
11 1 placed it at once in a 
strong leather trunk, and 
went on board the P. and O. 
steamer Bcntinck^ which had 
just come in," 

"And did you embark at 
once ? " 
" I did." 

"Were there many pas- 
sengers on board ? " 
** Yes, a good many." 
" How long did the steamer 
remain in port after you went 
on board ? " 

u About four hours," 
"And was the leather 
trunk containing the catV 
eye placed in your cabin ? ip 
" It was," 

11 And not removed all the voyage ? " 
" No," 

" Was the leather trunk intact when you 
arrived in London ? M 

* E As far as I know, it was." 
" Have you any doubt on the subject ? " 
"Not the slightest." 

" You stilt have that trunk, I suppose ? " 
"Certainly I have." 
"Could I see it?" 
M Oh, yes, Will you see it now ? " 
4 * Yes, I should like to do so." 
In compliance with my request he led 
me to his bedroom on the second floor, 
where in one corner stood a do me -shaped 
leather trunk of very solid construction. 
It was secured with two locks in the front, 
the locks being about a foot apart, I a^ked 
to inspect the keys, and Mr, Ashburton at 
once produced them, 

" I see you have two keys ? " I remarked. 
" Yes." 

"Will one key open both locks ? " 
11 No ; each lock is of a totally different 

I noted that the keys were quite different 
to ordinary keys. They were made in the 
shape of a shield, and had an unusual 
number of wards. I next proceeded to 
examine the trunk with the aid of a power- 
ful SfMV^R^lfY^^^^^^N 10 determine 





that the brass work of one lack at least had 
been considerably filed. 

"Now, answer me this, Mr. Ashburton/' 
I remarked* " Have you the faintest idea 
when and where that lock could have been 
tampered with ? " 

11 I have not/' he exclaimed with strong 
emphasis. "On my soul, I have not," he 
added, with a fervency that I felt sure could 
not have been assumed* 

I returned to Lord Middlewick, who 
exclaimed impatiently — 

u Wei 'what's the result now, Donovan ? " 
14 Do you give me carte blanche to act as 
I like in this matter ? " 
U I do, 5? he answered, 

II Good ; then I shall proceed to Colombo 
at onee. n 

His lordship seemed to think that such 
a step was unnecessary ; but I told him that 
it was my custom always to b?gin at the 
fountain-bead in such cases. And in this 
particular one it was of the highest im- 
portance to endeavour, bv every possible 
tneansj to determine whether the robbery 
had been effected in transit, or before the 
box containing the stone was removed from 

Colombo. As he came to see 
the whole matter from my 
point of view, he offered no 
further argument against the 
course I proposed, and within 
two days from that time J was 
travelling express to Brindisi, 
to catch the outward-bound 
P. and O, steamer for the East. 
No news had reached 
Colombo of the loss of the 
stone when I arrived there, 
and 1 had kept my mission a 
secret from everyone. My 
first step was to seek an inter- 
view with Mr. Jeeheboy, a 
sedate, dignified Indian gen- 
tleman, who received me with 
the most business-like cour- 
tesy j and I at once began to 
study hirn T but saw nothing in 
his manner or style that sug- 
gested in the slightest degree 
the likelihood of his being a 
party to the theft. After a few 
preliminary remarks, I said — 
"You have recently sold a 
very fine specimen of a cat's- 
eyc to Lord Mid die wick, I 
understand ? "' 

"I have/' he answered ; 
u and I believe it to be one of 
the finest stones of its kind the world has 
ever produced." 

" You saw it packed, and delivered into 
the safe keeping of his lordship's agent, did 
you not?.* 1 

"Undoubtedly I did," he exclaimed, as 
his countenance lighted up with a look of 
anxious interest. 

"You have no manner of doubt iti your 
own mind that the stone was in l he box 
when the box was secured and sealed by 

The question caused Mr. Jeeheboy to 
start visibly, and, though it could not be 
said that his dusky face grew pale, there 
were indications in it that clearly betrayed 
how agitated he was + His dark eyes peered 
into mine, and for some moments he re- 
mained silent, as though somewhat at a loss 
how to answer me. But at last he said— 

*' Sir, your question alarms me, for it 
seems to suggest that something is wrong, 
I will answer you, however, to the point at 
once, I am as certain that the cat's-eye 
was in the lyqx.when I set my seal upon it 
as lam that I urn* living man, and talking 



ki Did you seal the box yourself } u 

u Yes. In the presence of one of my 
partners and two of my clerks, and of Mr. 
Prince, head of the banking firm of Prince, 
Hal ford & Payne, in whose hands the gem 
had been placed for safety. But, I beseech 
you, tell me, has the stone not reached its 
destination ? HT 

"It has not/' I answered. M The stone 
has been stolen/ 1 

" Impossible ! ft 
exclaimed Mr. 
Jeeheboy perfectly 
aghast. Then he 
added quickly/ 1 If 
that is true, the 
gentleman — Mr. 
Ashburton — who 
took it away must 
have stolen it." 

"Why do you 
think so?" I 
asked, wishing to 
know whether his 
opinion was mere- 
ly the suspicion 
begotten by cir- 

"Who else could 
have done it?" 
he exclaimed, with 
the air of a man 
who fdt sure that 
he was right. 

"Ah, that is the 
problem. La t e r on 
I may be able to 
give you an an- 
swer. At present 
I cannot do so. In the meantime I should 
like to see your partner, your clerks, and 
Mr. Prince." 

Goosh and the clerks I saw at once T as 
they were on the premises ; and they con- 
firmed, in the most emphatic m»ner ? the 
statement of the head of the firm — that 
the stone was safely in the box when the 
box was sealed. 

Having finished my business so far with 
the firm of Jeeheboy, Lalam, Goosh & Co., 
I waited on Mr, Prince at his residence, a 
very handsome bungalow on the outskirts 
of the town. He was no less surprised 
than everyone else had been when he 
heard that the catVeye had been stolen ; 
and, if possible^ he was even more emphatic 
than Jeeheboy and Goosh were in stating 
that the gem was in the box when the box 
was sealed up. 

I now felt perfectly satisfied in my own 
mind that the great cat's eye had duly left 
the island in the care of Mr. Ashburton, 
and that it had been purloined between that 
time and the date of the arrival of the box 
ill London. By whom I had yet to learn ; 
but it was clear that the thief must have 
had a knowledge that the gem was on 
board, How did he get that knowledge? 
Mr, Ashburton was not the man 
to openly proclaim his errand to 


anyom ; but then great 
publicity had been given 
to the finding of the stone t 
and its purchase by Lord 
Middlewick. Thai pari 
of the story had long been 
public property, and the 
inference I drew was this : 
—A band of conspirators 
had leagued themselves 
together to steal the precious gem . I say 4S a 
band of conspirators/ 1 because I was quite 
sure that no person single-handed could 
have carried out the robbery. And I was no 
less sure that one or more of the conspira- 
tors must have been well acquainted with 
the way in which the box was sealed up, 
and, more than that, they must have been 
provided with the means for closely imita- 
ting the seal of Mr. Jeeheboy T s firm. The 
line of argument I pursued suggested at 
once that a system of espionage had been 
instituted, mid Mr. Ashburton had been 
closely watched. 

This process of ratiocination determined 
me to make the most searching inquiries 
as to the strangers who were staying in 
Colombo at the time Mr. Ashburton was 
there ; and these inquiries brought forth 
the following suggestive facts— * 

1 20 


Two or three weeks before Mr, Ashbur- 
torTs arrival the Rev. Arthur Jobson and 
his wife landed from an outward-bound 
steamer that was going to Calcutta. The 
Rev. Arthur Jobson was an invalid in t 
apparently, shattered health ; and he had 
suffered so much at sea that he vowed he 
would go no further, as he wished to be 
buried on shore, for he had a sentimental 
dread of being thrown into the deep, His 
wife was represented to be a most charming 
woman, and much sympathy was shown 
for her and her husband, who was a com- 
paratively young man. She was visited by 
most of the European residents, and the 
devotion she displayed for her husband 
called forth the admiration of everyone. 

It was quite thought when he first came 
on shore that the Rev. Arthur Jobson 
would not live many weeks, but the climate 
of Ceylon exerted such a beneficial effect 
upon him that he began to improve, and 
when the Bentinck arrived he announced 
his resolve to give up all idea of going on 
to Calcutta, which originally had been his 
destination, and to return home in that 
vessel- It was understood that his wife 
was somewhat op- 
Dosed to the plan, 
3ut he was firm in 
lis resolve, and so 
passages were se- 
cured in the Ben- 
tinck -j and when 
she sailed on her 
homeward voyage 
the Rev. Arthur 
Jobson and his 
wife were cabin 
passengers in her. 
I learnt that 
"Jobson i} and his 
wife went on shore 
at Aden, whence 
with some diffi- 
culty I traced them 
to Marseilles. 

I now asked my- 
self why he had 
gone to Marseilles. 
He must have had 
some special rea- 
son for doing so. 
What was that 
reason ? Seeking 
for it, I lighted 
upon what seemed 
to me the most 
feasible one, 

namely, to open up negotiations for the 
sale of the gem. I was aware that in 
Marseilles was a firm of Jews, who traded 
under the style of Moses Cohen & Sons. 
These enterprising gentlemen were said to 
be the largest dealers in precious stones and 
hric-a-brac in Europe, and a little bird had 
whispered to me that they were not too 
particular with whom they did business. 
They would buy gems and jewels from any- 
one, and ask no questions, so long as they 
thought they could make money, and 
avoid complications with the legaf autho- 
rities. To Messrs* Moses Cohen & Sons I 
resolved to go, and, by means of a stratagem, 
endeavour to worm from them the infor- 
mation I wanted, should it so happen that 
my surmise was correct* And so one 
morning I entered their shop, which was 
situated near the docks. It was a dingy, 
ramshackle, tumble-down sort of place, 
filled up with as strange an assortment of 
things as could have been found in any 
part of Europe, There were stuffed croco- 
diles and precious vases, gold tankards and 
Indian clubs, rings and jewels, shells and 
beads, rare rugs, filigree work, specimens of 

choice mosaic ; there 

were elephants' tusks, 

and embroidered cloths 

l » 5a or 0r of barbaric splendour, 

University of Michigan 



head-dresses, shoes, and sandals from every 
clime under the sun — in short, it was 
the most heterogeneous and the oddest 
collection of things I had ever beheld 
under one roof, while the combination of 
scents and smells that assailed the nostrils 
defies even a suggestive description. 

I had cropped my hair short & la 
Frangaise^ donned a blue blouse, a much- 
worn pair of trousers, and sabots. Osten- 
sibly I was a French ouvrier, but from a 
certain assumed sullen expression, and a 
furtiveness of look, I might have aroused 
suspicion that I was not averse to any little 
enterprise, however illegitimate. Indeed, I 
had purposely endeavoured to suggest that 
I was by no means unfamiliar with the 
French hulks of Brest. 

As I entered the emporium of curios I 
was confronted by a strange-looking little 
man, who eyed me with a pair of eyes that 
were as keen as hawk's, and of a purple 
blackness of hue. His face was of the most 
pronounced Jewish type, and his nose sin- 
gularly suggestive of the beak of a bird of 
prey. He wore a Persian cap of embroi- 
dered velvet, and was otherwise attired in a 
very much frayed and faded Eastern robe, 
loosely held together at the waist by a 
silken cord ornamented with gold thread, 
while his feet were thrust into a pair of 
Turkish slippers. In age he was probably 
about thirty, though he really looked older, 
while his general expression was that of 
cupidity and cunning. He was engaged in 
examining a bundle of silk handkerchiefs 
from some Eastern bazaar, and, as I entered, 
he snarled out, as he fixed his eyes upon 
me — 

44 What do you want ?" 

He spoke in French, of course, and I 
answered him in French. 

44 1 want to see the head of the firm," I 

44 I'm the head at present," he^rowled 
again. 44 What is your business ? 

"Trade," I mumbled. 

44 What have you got to trade?" he 
demanded in the same growling sort of way. 

44 Nothing," I answered sharply, 44 if you 
treat me like a dog." 

44 Where do you come from ? " he asked 
with a sort of savage eagerness. 

44 Paris," was my curt answer. 

44 So. And what are you? " 

44 Something more than I seem," I mut- 

44 And what have you got to trade ? " he 
asked, growing more eager. 

44 Gems and jewels," I replied, fixing my 
eyes upon him, and I saw his grow brighter, 
if that were possible, while in their dark 
depths the auri sacra fames manifested 
itself as I had never to my knowledge seen 
it do in such a way in any other eyes. The 
light that gleamed from those dark orbs 
was the light that comes into the miser's 
eyes at the sight of a heap of gold. 

44 Where did you get them ? " he fairly 
gasped out, suppressing his excitement as 
well as he could, though it was too manifest 
to be altogether concealed. 

44 Well, sir, that's my business," I re- 
plied ; u but I had a hint given me by one 
who is as staunch as steel that your firm 
would do a trade. I'd like to see your 
father, though." 

44 Youcan\" 

44 Why not?" 

44 Because he is not here. I tell you I'm 
the head at present, and I can do business 
as well as he can." 

I affected not to notice this remark, but 
asked — 

44 When will your father be back ? " 

44 1 don't know." 

44 Clan you give me no idea ? " 

44 No." 

44 Then I'll come again, " I said, and I 
made a movement as if about to go. 

44 Stay ! " he cried. 4i If you want a good 
market, it is here ; and I'll deal fairly with 
you, if you have stuff that is worth atten- 

44 Oh, of that there is no doubt. But I'll 
come again when your father is in." 

This reiteration irritated him, and he 
said in the snarling way I had already 
noticed — 

44 You are a fool, and if you won't trade 
with me, you shan't trade with my father." 

44 Well, that may be so," I said with in- 
difference, " but I'll try him, anyway." 

44 Then you'll have to wait a pretty long 

44 Why ? " 

44 Because he's not in the country." 

44 Where is he?" 

44 He's in Morocco," came the unguarded 
answer ; and, though it certainly might 
have been my fancy, I believe I detected in 
his face evidence of a feeling on his part 
that he had been foolish in speaking so 

44 Oh, he's in Morocco, is he ! " I exclaimed. 
44 Well, that's unfortunate for me." Then 
after some moments of reflection, I asked, 

" Ar firff™iGAN 



H tit, THINK OVEH THfe MAt'l K*. " 

4t What do you mean ? * ! 

" I mean, will you treat a fellow squarely Y 
and not give him away," 

11 Certainly, 1 ' he answered, "and secrecy 
and despatch is our motto." 

"Welt, I'll think over the matter," I 
replied, "and come and see you again.'' 

His anger and irritability made themselves 
manifest. But, without waiting for him to 
continue-tlie argument, I left the place with 
an instinctive feeling that I had again 
struck the trail ; for it instantly occurred 
to me that old Moses Cohen had gone to 
M orocco i n cc : r pa 1 1 y w it h Job so n , w h o h ad 
changed his name to Rowland, and if I 
could establish that fact there could be but 
one deduction, namely, that they had gone 
to try and sell the great catVeye. I 
directed my attention now to tracing Row- 
land, and J found that he and his wife 
went to Lyons, then doubled back to 
Marseilles again, and took passage in the 
French steamer La Pelouse for Algiers, and 
in that steamer old Cohen also sailed. 

The scent was getting hot now, and 
my surmises were becoming hard facts. In 
going to Lyons, Rowland had been actuated, 
no doubt, by the belief that he was making 
it more difficult for him to be traced ; and 
when he and his wife came back to Mar- 
seilles, they had again changed their name, 
and were then known as Mr, and Mrs, St. 
John Clair, and in that name they were 
entered on the passenger list of La Pelouse. 
That they were the people I wanted there 

was not the slightest doubt, 
for the description I received 
of them tallied exactly with 
the Rev. Arthur Jobson and 
his wife, who had been in 

Perhaps I need scarcely say 
that as soon as I could pos- 
sibly get a steamer I was 
speeding to Algiers after 
them, and, arrived there, I 
ascertained thev hud pro- 
ceeded to Mogadon This was 
the place, then, where they 
hoped to find a market, and 
lo Mogador I resolved to go. 
But I saw the necessity for 
taking counsel with the 
French authorities in Algiers, 
and I appealed to Colonel 
Jules Marcet, who was in 
charge of the garrison. This 
gentleman promised to aid 
me in every possible way, 
and he furnished me with an escort of ten 
Arab soldiers in charge of two French 
officers, and an interpreter, and, as I could 
tolerate no delay, we set off at once* 

On reaching Mogador, I learnt that il an 
old Jew trader," speaking Arabic perfectly, 
had recently arrived in company with a 
white man and his wife, and the Jew had 
brought with him a most wonderful gem, 
which he was anxious to sell to the Sultan, 
who was then at his summer palace about 
twenty miles inland. Accordingly the Jew 
and the white man and his wife had gone 
out to him. It was now necessary to take 
such steps as would render it tolerably 
certain that I should recover the long 
missing gem* To do this some subterfuge 
would have to be resorted to, for the Sultan 
was a wily monarch, and, had he been 10 dis- 
posed, he might have sent the stone to some 
safe plaft of keeping in the heart of his 
country, and have defied anyone to obtain 
possession or it- I therefore, with the 
approval of the officers of my escort, had a 
message conveyed to him to say that I had 
come from England to see him on a very 
urgent matter indeed, and I humbly craved 
that he would grant me an audience, as my 
business was of such a nature that his 
interests might suffer if he refused to see 

After waiting a few days his barbaric 
Majesty's answer came, and it was to the 
effect that the interview I solicited would 

^^Mf^y^fkraif^ an escort 

A romance From a detective's case-book. u 3 

from the palace would arrive to conduct me 
and my attendants to his presence. 

When the next day dawned — it was a day 
of splendour and heat — fifty picturesque 
horsemen, each man clad in the ample 
white garments peculiar to the country, 
and mounted on a superb Arab steed, 
clattered into the town, and by command 
of His Majesty they had brought a spare 
horse for my use. After some delay we left 
the strange and quaint town of Mogador 
and struck inland. I had adopted the dress 
of the country, even to the ample folds of 
linen around the head and the peaked em- 
broidered shoes of red Morocco leather. I 
also carried a native gun, and in my belt 
two of the large and formidable knives 
peculiar to the country. But, as a matter 
of self-protection, I had far more faith in 
the two heavy six-chambered revolvers, 
each barrel loaded, which I carried con- 
cealed beneath my dress, but easily get-at- 

As we approached the palace a body of the 
Sultan's troops lined the road and saluted 
as we passed ; and, entering a great gate- 
way of exquisite Moorish architecture, I 
found myself in a quadrangle, in the centre 
of which was a clump of date-palms ; and a 
fountain gurgled and plashed, impressing 
one with a most refreshing and delightful 
sense of coolness. Beneath the shade of 
the trees a group of men reclined, and a 
little further off a number of closely veiled 
women were squatted on the ground ; and, 
though the eyes were the only part of their 
features exposed, I could not fail to observe, 
by the expression in the eyes, that they 
were regarding me with a keen and curious 

After being conducted through many 
winding passages we found ourselves at last 
in a spacious and magnificent chamber, the 
walls of which were panelled \^ith gold 
mosaic. The floor was polished marble, 
and the vaulted ceiling was coloured blue 
and studded with stars of gold. Seated 
cross-legged on a raised dais, and attired in 
a most wonderful robe of gold and silk, was 
the Sultan, and surrounding him was an 
army of attendants ; while two gigantic 
black fellows stood behind him fanning him 
with ponderous jewelled fans. The whole 
atmosphere was heavy with the odour of a 
strange perfume that was thrown up by a 
tiny fountain in the marble floor. 

As I approached His Majesty with the 
most profound obeisance, I could not repress 
a start of pleasurable surprise as I observed 

that, held by a little network of gold thread, 
a catVeye of unsurpassed splendour was 
glittering on his breast, and I felt that at 
last I gazed on the stolen gem. Through 
my interpreter I thus addressed the Sultan, 
adopting the florid and fulsome style 
peculiar to the country — 

44 Oh, most potent and mighty ruler ol 
this great and wondrous land of beauty and 
light, whose power even kings and other 
great ones of the earth acknowledge, deign, 
I humbly crave, to, give hearing to thy 
humble servant who lies in the dust at your 

" Speak ; we will listen," answered the 

44 This is my story, then, O Mightiness. 
I come in search of a stolen gem, which is 
like unto that which glitters on your 

The Sultan started, and his dark face 
flamed up with anger, as he answered — 

44 This gem have I lawfully acquired 
within the last few days from a man and 
woman from your own country, and a Jew 
of Marseilles, who has frequently supplied 
me with some of the treasures of the earth.". 

44 Naught but truth could fall from the 
lips of your Majesty," I replied ; 4i but the 
Jew and my country people have deceived 
you, and that stone has been stolen from 
its legitimate owner, a mighty lord of 
England, and I crave you, ere this Jew and 
his companions leave your kingdom, to 
have them seized, and compelled to return 
to you the money you have paid, and then 
place in my possession the gem which I 
have so long sought, in order that I may 
restore it to its sorrowing owner." 

By His Majesty's commands I gave a 
detailed account of the history of the stone, 
and satisfied him that I was lawfully em- 
powered to take charge of the gem, and 
also to convey the man and woman back to, 
England, so that they might receive the 
measure of punishment due for the crime 
they had committed. 

The Sultan was fiercely angry at being 
so deceived, and issued orders at once 
that a band of his picked soldiers should 
ride with all possible speed to Oran 
and bring back the man and woman and 
the Jew ; and pending their arrival I was 
to be detained. For eight days I remained 
practically a prisoner in the palace, but at 
last one morning the beating of drums and 
the shouting of the people announced that 
the soldiers had returned, and soon I was 
informed thsit they had brought the Jew 



and the " Jobsons fr with them. In the 
afternoon I was conducted once more to the 
presence of the Sultan, and confronted with 
Cohen and his companions. * 4 Jobson," as 
I had better con- 
tinue to cull him, 
was a tall, impos- 


ing-looking man, with quite a patrician cast 
of face ; but his utterly dejected and scared 
expression showed that he felt the game 
was up. His wife was a little woman of 
considerable beauty t with a strong face and 
a mass of golden hair She immediately 
struck me as a woman of an iron will and 
dogged determination, and I at once con- 
cluded that her husband was as potter's 
clay in her hands. 

Cohen was no kss striking ; he was even 
a picturesque figure ; of very swarthy com- 
plexion, and long dark hair falling in greasy 
ringlets about his neck and shoulders. 

With singular adroitness the Sultan sub- 
jected him to a most severe cross-examina- 
tion ; and though the Jew with desperate 
effort tried to justify himself, he had to con- 
fess that he had undertaken the commission 

without duly inquiring how Jobson and his 
wife had obtained possession of the gem. 
On his part Jobson did all he could to 
create an impression that he was a greatly 
injured man, and that the charge 
I preferred against him was a 
false one. But it was very clear 
that the Sultan 
did not believe 
him. And at 
last, under the 
impulse of a 
great fear, he 
blurted out that 
the gem had 
been stolen, but 
that he was 
only the agent 
for others, 
Wh ereu pon 
his wife assailed 
him with a vol- 
ley of abuse, 
which corrobo- 
rated my im- 
pression that 
she was pos- 
sessed of the 
ill and the mind, and he was a poor weak 

The Sultan was evidently much con- 
cerned, and, though he had got all the 
money back that he had paid for the cat's- 
eye, he seemed loth to part with the stone, 
and said that he would give his decision in 
two days. In the meantime, I instructed 
my interpreter to impress upon His Majesty 
that if he failed to restore the stolen pro- 
perty to the HghtfuJ owner, he would most 
certainly give offence to both England and 
France. Whether this empty threat had 
any effect or not, I don't know ; but at 
the end of the second day he sent word 
that he would deliver up the gem to me in 
the presence of his Prime Minister of State 
and the two French officers, and that 1 
should be free to take Jobson with me out 
of the country, but that, unless the woman 
of her own will chose to accompany me, 
she should not be compelled to go. 

The arrangement for delivering up the 
stone was dulyjjur^d out with considerable 
ceremony, but jVlrs- Jobson, after abusing 
her husband for what she termed his" piti- 
able weakness and cowardice,' 1 said she 
would remain where 1 she was, let the con- 
sequences be what they might* 

Having got possession of the stone, I 
was anxious to leave without a moment's 



I :-■ 

del ay , and I requested His Majesty to fur- 
nish me with an escort of his most trusted 
soldiers, He gave me twelve men, and, 
though night was closing in, I determined 
to set off immediately, for I had an im- 
pression that an attempt might be made 
to rob me of my precious charge. All 
night long I travelled without halt, and 
was truly thankful to ride into Mogador as 
the day was breaking. I had brought 
Jobson with me ; he seemed utterly broken 
down and dejected, and he was evidently in 
fear of his life. 

After a brief rest the journey was re- 
sumed. The Sultan's soldiers were qrdered 
not to go further than Mogador, and I con- 
tinuedonmy way with my original escort, 
and reached Algiers without adventure* 
It was then decided that Jobson would 
have to be detained by the French, pending 
the formalities of extradition ; and, as a 
steamer was on the point of sailing, I took 
passage in her. For, while the precious 
gem remained in my possession, I was 
restless and sleepless with anxiety for its 
safety. It may well be imagined with 
what joy I found myself in London after 
my most exciting and adventurous journey. 
And I immediately telegraphed to Mr. 
Ashburton, telling him that I had re- 
covered the stone- 

Then , ascertaining that LordMiddlewick 
was at his mansion in Berkshire, I went 
down by the first train I could get. As I 
entered the room, he rose, and shook my 
hand, saying— 

*' Well, Donovan, it's a long time since I 
heard anything about you, and 1 suppose 
there is no chance now of my ever seeing 
the lost geni ? * 

" My lord, I havfr been following it about 
the world,*' I answered. 

He smiled a little ironically as he re- 
marked — 

u And, like a will-o'-the-wisp^ it has led 
you a useless dance, I presume ? " 

" Not exactly/ 1 I said, smiling in turn, 

and producing from my pocket a little 
packet of tissue paper, I unrolled it ; and, 
as I laid the stone before him, I said : 
u Here is the lost catVeye, my lord, so that 
you see my journeying has not been useless 
altogether* 11 

For some moments he could not speak, 
so great was his mingled surprise and emo- 
tion. Then he seized my hand again and 
wrung it, and exclaimed — 

" Well, Donovan j you are the most 
wonderful fellow I have ever known ; and 
I almost believe you are gifted with powers 
of necromancy. 11 

M There is nothing wonderful in the feat 
I have performed/' I answered, with— as I 
hope— becoming modesty. (l Endowed with 
an ability for logical reasoning, I have been 
able to use such slight clues as I could 
obtain. The result is, you are now in pos- 
session of the gem ; and perhaps I need 
scarcely remind you that Mr. Ashburtou's 
honour i* unstained, 11 

41 Depend upon it, Donovan," said his 
lordship, quickly, "that I shall endeavour 
to make the most ample reparation to Mr. 
Ashburton for the unjust suspicion I have 
cast upon him/ 1 

It remains for me to say that, after some 
delay, Jobson was brought over from 
France, and duly put upon his trial for 
stealing the gem. His real name was 
proved to be William Hinton. He was 
the son of a much-respected clergyman, 
but had led a wild and restless life, and had 
married a clever adventuress, who, there 
was no reason to doubt, had led him astray. 
Two other men had been mixed up in the 
robbery, and had really found the money 
for Hinton's expenses ; but they managed 
to get out of the country, and thus avoided 
justice. On his own confession, Hinton 
was convicted and sentenced to seven years 1 
imprisonment. What became of his wife I 
never knew, but it is exceedingly doubtful 
whether she would ever be alio Ave d to leave 
the Sultan of Morocco's dominions alive. 

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Original from 

Illustrated Interviews* 


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Elliott & Ft* 

|OT a sound reaches me here, 
save the singing of the birds/' 
said Sir Frederick Leighton, 
as we stood for a moment in 
the garden of his beautiful 
house in the Holland Park- 
road T Kensington. It seemed to be a link- 
world nf its own. There was nothing 
whatever to disturb one's thoughts on this 
day of sunshine, when the flowers about 


the lawn were locking thur brightest and 
best t the great trees and tiny trailing ivy 
greener to-day than ever before. We knew 
the children were playing in the street, a few 
yards away t buttheir merry shouts and happy 
laughter could not be heard. The surround- 
ings of the home of the President of the 
Royal Academy almost suggested the secret 
of the peaceful effect which seems to come 
over one whcnlcoki jig a,i '.many of hispictures, 



We crossed the lawn, walked down a 
long leafy passage covered with ivy, and 
once again entered the house. I do not 
think there is another home in the land so 
beautiful as Sir Frederick's. It is the homo 
of an artist, who must needs have every- 
thing about the place to harmonise as the 
colours he lays upon his canvases. 

Sir Frederick is justly proud of his hou&e. 
He does not care even to look back upon 
his own life, a life which has been one of 
remarkable brilliancy, a life which he has 
lived with a purpose ; he is to-day at the 
head of his profession, a profession for which 
he was destined on his first birthday. Not 
only has his genius been conveyed through 
the channel of his brush and palette, but as 
a scholar and a thinker he impresses to the 
highest degree those whose good fortune it 
is to enjoy his friendship or acquaintance. 
Neither will he criticise the efforts of his 
brother artists save in terms of praise ; 
neither will he speak of the life which he 
personifies— A rt — a subject too great, he 
says, to be faithfully treated in the space in 
which I was to chronicle the events of the 
day which I passed with him, He turns 
from his life, his brother artiste, and art 

itself to his home. He loves his home. 
His house was not designed in a day or 
built in a year. It has been the work of 
years ; bit by bit it has become more beau- 
tiful ; its owner has watched it grow up 
almost as a father does his boy. 

The house itself stands in a spot sur- 
rounded by many eminent painters ; Luke 
Fildes, R.A,, Val Prinsep, A.R.A., G, A. 
Watts, R.A, ; whilst near at hand, in one 
of the studios adjoining, the younger Rich- 
mond, the eminent portrait painter, is 
working. Outside, the house, which is 
of red brick, is striking in its simplicity ; 
it was built for Sir Frederick by Mr. 
Aitchison twenty-six years ago, and here 
the President of the Royal Academy has 
lived and worked ever since. Possibly 
the unimpressive aspect of the exterior was 
designed with a view of surprising the 
visitor when he once entered the place* 
The interior positively surpasses descrip- 
tion, I had the great privilege of being 
taken from room to room by Sir Frederick 
Leigh ton ; object after object was taken 
up and talked about, and it would be quite 
impossible to refer separately to all the 
artistic treasures of which he is the pos- 

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sessor t the beauties of which were most 
enthusiastically dilated upon. 

Entering from the street, you find your- 
self in a small halh Though of the most 
artistic design, this, too, I fancy, is yet 
another blind for what lies beyond. In this 
hall stands a bronze statuette of Icarus, 
by Mn Gilbert, A.R.A., executed for Sir 
Frederick. A few steps more through a 
solid-looking black ebony door picked out 
with gold (all the doors of the house are 
similar) and we enter the Arabian Court. 
Sir Frederick's Arabian Court is simply a 
creation ; one can only stand and listen to 
the splashing of the fountain falling beneath 

the sweetest of strains glide across the 
smooth plaques ; if Aladdin himself were 
to enter bearing on his back his burden 
of precious stones* It is the very spot to 
which you would come to find all this. Sir 
Frederick pointed out to me the Damascus, 
Persian, and Rhodian ware which is libe* 
rally scattered about. The delicate wood- 
work is from Cairo, the exquisite mosaics 
are by Walter Crane ; the blue tiles are 
among the first De Morgan ever did, and the 
capitals of the columns are carved with 
various birds by the late Sir Edgar Boehiru 
The only thing which has not been brought 
from some Eastern country is some very 

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the golden dome at the far end of the court, 
and conjure up recollections of the fairest 
of scenes and grandest of palaces described 
in the Arabian Nights, We are in Ken- 
sington ; but as one stands there it would 
not come as the least surprise if the Court 
were suddenly crowded with the most beau- 
tiful of Eastern women reclining on the 
softest of silken cushions in the niches in 
the corners ; if the wildest and most fasci- 
nating dancers of the Arabian Nights were 
tQ come tripping in, and to the sound of * 

quaint candelabra exhibited in Old London 
at one of the South Kensington Exhibi- 

Walking down to the far end of this 
bewildering spot I stand beneath the great 
gilt dome, and the sun which is shining 
causes it to sparkle with a thousand gems. 
On looking up, the dome seems to lose 
itself far away, so delicate and ingenious 
is the construction and the colouring of it. 
It is a place in which to sit down and 
dream, for thete is> not a sound except the 

University of Michigan 



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" HT-.KEATll Tir« GREAT GILT on^rfc." 

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gentle splashing of the spray from the foun- 
tain. The fountain itself is hewn out of 
one solid block of black marble. It comes 
to one's memory that this spot has been 
more than once the scene of many amusing 
incidents. Sir Frederick's friends, in going 
through the court, frequently, when gazing 
at the beautiful ceiling, unconsciously walk 
into the water. 

The study is to the left of the entrance 
hall. Here on the walls hang some ex- 
quisite heads by Legros, drawings by Alfred 
Steve ns t and a number of etchings ; choice 
specimens of mediaeval ware fill odd corners, 
and here, too, almost hidden away from 
view, is an engraving of Old Burlington 
House, showing very different surroundings 
to those of 1802 — the fields are away in the 
distance, waggons drawn by half a dozen 
horses are passing, and coaches heavily 
laden are driving past. 

The dining and drawing-rooms are on 
the opposite side of the court. Both of 
them took out on the garden, and adjoin 
each other. The walls of the former are of 
dark Indian red. The Rhodian and Da- 
mascus plates p which are set out in single 
file from the ceiling to the floor, are very 

numerous, A fine work by Schiavone hanjrs 
over the great oaken fireplace, and on either 
side of the hearth are a pair of quaint 
Arabian chairs ingeniously fitted with 
looking-glasses on their backs and arms. 

The drawing-room is a very delightful 
apartment. The colour of the walls is of a 
delicate nut brown, while the ceiling is 
pure white- There is a recess which opens 
out on to the garden^ and set in the ceilinp 
of this is a magnificent study by Delacroix 
for a ceiling in the Palais Royal* More 
plates are upon the walls, and curios and 
priceless niqk-nacks of all descriptions and 
from all countries are upon the tables. The 
pictures are all oil colours. Sir Frederick 
is pardonably proud of possessing four 
panels by Corot, which he regards as the 
finest this artist ever painted. They hang 
in pairs, two on each side of the recess, and 
their subjects are M Morning, 11 w Noon/ 1 
" Evening," and u Night ^ il Wet ley 
Rocks" is the title given to the first pic- 
ture painted by George Mason after he 
settled in England, There is yet another 
Corot, a David Cox, and a couple of 
Constables, One of the Constables is 
the original palcttokniftll'i.Wtch for flu 

1 50 


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M Hay- wain/* The canvas— for which this 
was the first sketch — was sent to Paris, 
gaining a gold medal, and at the same 
time causing an immense sensation in 
the, French capital* Landscape paint- 
ing at that period was not understood; 
heavy historical subjects were in fashion, 
and it was considered a daring thing for an 
artist to paint nature in its simplicity, as 
seen in the green meadows and fields. Sir 
Frederick ex- 
pressed the 
opinion that the 
simple little can- 
vas of the " Hay^ 
wain " revolu- 
tionised the 
French school of 

Passing again 
into the hall, one 
notices a stuffed 
peacock which 
figured 10 one of 
the great artist's 
pictures. The 
beautiful colour- 
ing of the feathers 
of this bird led 
Sir Frederick to 
give it a promi- 
nent place in the 
most noticeable 
part of his house. 

On the stairs ^^Ww- 

leading to the 
studio many rare 
works of art are 
met with. Here 
hangs a copy of 
Michael Angelo's 
u Creation of 
Adam/' while 
near it is an un- 
finished canvas by 
Sir Joshua Rey- 
nolds ; though 
unfinished, it is, 
in reality, a very 
valuable posses- 
sion! as it is a 
silent witness to 
the fact that Sir 
Joshua never 
outlined his 
figures with a 
pencil, but used 
the brush from 
the begi nning. 
The picture represents Lord Rockingham 
with Burke, his secretary, and the face of 
the latter is barely suggested. 

At the top of the staircase is a delightful 
little antechamber. Walking to the end oF 
this you may look through a screen made 
of wood brought from Cairo and see the 
fountain playing down below. This spot 
also affords a closer view of the exquisite 
workmanship^ which has been put into the 

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dome, There are many fine works here, 
notably the original sketch for the M Need- 
less AlaTm/ T which Sir Frederick gave to 
Sir John Millais who, in return, presented 
him with that charming work "Shelling 
Peas.'* Paolo Paruta, the Venetian histo- 
rian, painted by Tintoretto, is also hurc, 
besides a head of Bassa^o and another . 
example of Schia^ 

Now Sir Fre- 
derick leads the 
way into the 
great studio — his 
workshop. It is 
one of the biggest 
studios in Lon- 
don. It would 
take a dozen 
pages to chronicle 
everything that 
it contains. The 
walls are covered 
with tiny sketches 
done by the ar- 
tist whilst travel- 
ling ; scenes of 
Rome, the Nile, 
Rhodes, Jerusa- 
lem, Athens, 
Seville, Algiers, 
and other pictu- 
resque Spots in- Fr^u a FhokK hi 


viting to the 
artist all find 
their place, and 
amongst the 
beautiful studies 
of the Continent 
are mingled the 
daintiest of 
views of the 
scenery of our 
own country r 
the valleys of 
Devonshire, the 
glorious green 
slopes of Ire- 
land, the moun- 
tains of Scot- 
land and of 
WaJes. On the 
south side of 
the studio, run- 
ning along the 
top, is a portion 
of the famous 
Elgin frieze* 
opposite the entrance is the studio win- 
dow, which is of large proportions and 
affords a magnificent light for painting. 
Set out in the recess of the window 
are objects every single one of which is 
worth noting. Here are studies for the 
11 Daphnephoria "— the bciy carrying the 
tripod, the man beating time to the music 

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Original from 
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of the procession, 
and many other 
figures intro- 
duced into that 
most remarkable 
work ; a sketch 
for the M Slug- 
gard," and a tiny 
model in jjlaster 
of the trio of 
beautiful maidens 
which form the 
subject of one of 
his Academy pic- 
tures for this 
year, 14 The Gar- 
den of the Hes- 

I i:sked Sir 
Frederick to tell 
me something 
about his studies 
for his pictures. 
I learnt that they 
were numberless. 
He is constantly making little play-sketches 
— hundreds of them in the course of a year ; 
many of them may never be used, yet every 
one may come in useful at some time. He 
carefully preserves ail these studies — he still 
has stored away the little book in which he 
used to draw as a boy when he was nine 
years of age. He is continually finding 
little sketches he made years ago coming 

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m for pictures to-day. Sir Frederick took 
from a portfolio some of these studies. 
They were done on pieces of brown paper ; 
one of these was for a Sibyl ; two others 
were the first studies for two of the maidens 
in the (i Garden of the Hesperides," and yet 
two more which were prominent figures in 
his famous work " Andromache. " Some of 
these are reproduced in these pages. 

There are quite 
a number of easels 
about with works 
upon them which 
are still in pro- 

" Here is a 
very beautiful 
drawing by 
said Sir Frede- 
rick, taking down 
from the wall one 
of the familiar 
women, with the 
equally familiar 
hat and feathers, 
which any mo- 
dern woman 
would envy. u It 
was a study for a 
picture he painted 




Frvn d FfuAa. hit] 


called 'The Mall.' Gainsborough was walk- 
ing along the Mall one day when he saw and 
was attracted by the lady in the picture, 
She perceived that the artist was attempt- 
ing to draw her portrait, and very carefully 
walked to and fro in order to give him every 
facility for making a likeness, Sir Thomas 
Lawrence used to come and look at this 
atudy when he was painting Miss Farren 
for Lord Derby." 

We were now looking at a very old en- 
graving of the Exhibition of the Royal 
Academy in 1777 ; it bears the autograph 
of the Prince of Wales, who presented it 
to Sir Frederick, Sir Frederick merrily 
points out an inscription on it in Greek 
which he translates/* Lot no one enter who 
is not a lover of the Muse* 11 u Rather 
curious, that inscription,'* he says ; " for if 
you look at the picture you will see two 

dogs coming in at the 
door! The engraving 
represents Sir Joshua 
Reynolds as President 
of the Royal Aca 
demy, showing the 
Prince of Wales and 
the Royal Family 
through the great 
room of the Exhibi- 
tion. I may tell you 
that it is customary 
for the President to 
take any members of 
the Royal Family 
round when they 
signify their intention 
of visiting Burlington 
House, His Royal 
Highness saw this 
picture in Paris, and 
immediately said, 
pointing to the figure 
of Sir Joshua, ' Why, 
that is Leigh ton 
showing me round 
the Royal Academy/ 
So he graciously gave 
me the engraving." 
Passing from the 

P great studio through 

*f~T *H a small corridor fur- 
nished with ebony 
book -sh el ves a n d 1 a rge 
pieces of canvas, and 
drawing the great 
plush curtains on one 
side, we enter the 
winter studio. Here 
the great artist paints when the light of the 
larger room is not sufficiently strong. A 
magnificent Persian carpet hangs on the 
wall. Here, too, is the picture, already 
referred to, of a girl shelling peas, the in- 
scription on which reads/ 4 To Sir Frederick 
Leighton from John Edward Millais, 
March 7, 1889," A great cross of wood 
near at hand tells that Sir Frederick will 
shortly be engaged on a work suggestive of 
the Crucifixion. 

In a corner of the room, set out on a 
black ebony table, are great jars from far- 
off lands crowded with brushes. Many 
artistic M props 1 ' lie in this little studio. 
Here I found a tiny wreath of everlasting 
flowers, a golden lyre, tambourines, and 
many other things. The golden lyre is 
the one seen in the ''Garden of ihe Hes- 
p e ri^^ E ^^.t^p^^ R? . find wreath of 

[miiati £ Pf*. 




flowers figure in another of the Academy 
pictures, whilst here is a pretty little 
stuffed antelope, which formed a 
part of another work in this year's 

Together we returned to the 
great studio, jind, sitting down, Sir 
Frederick recalled many interesting 
reminiscences in his career. 

The appearance of the President 
tjf the Royal Academy is familiar 
to all. In spite of his sixty-one 
years he is still one of the hand- 
somest of men. His hair is quite 
silver, and his features are as per- 
fect and as distinctive as those in 
his own pictures. He speaks very 
softly, with combined gentleness 
and deliberation. His heart is 
evidently in every subject upon 
which he converses. When we 
remember the numerous duties 
attached to the office of the Pre- 
sidentship of the Royal Academy, 
he may almost be regarded as one 
of the hardest worked men in 
London. He is in his studio by 
half-past eight every morning, and 
previous to that hour he has had 
his first breakfast, glanced through 
The Times i opened his letters, and 
read for three-quarters of an hour 
besides. He works on his Aca- 
demy pictures up to the very last 
moment, and when painting wears 
a pair of large spectacles with 
divided glasses, the upper part of 
the glasses being used for seeing 

his model at 
for painting. 

a distance, and the lower 
These he has worn for the 



last ten years, although there is prac- 
tically nothing the matter with his eyes, 
He is a most accomplished linguist, and 
at his Sunday u At Homes/ 1 where there 
are sometimes representatives of many 
nationalities and tongues at his house, 
he will converse with them all one after 
the other in their own language. His 
kindness of heart is 
proverbial ; he never 
fails to encourage ; 
and he is refined 
geniality itself* As 
an instance of his 
kindly spirit for 
everybody, a capital 
story is told : On 
the occasion of a 
Royal Academy Ex- 
hibition the Presi- 
dent was walking 
down the stairs of 
his house m full 
dress, on which two 
medals were dis- 
played, to his car- 
riage, when, wishing 
to enter a small 
room in the vicinity , 
he found that the 
door was locked. 
It stems that his 
h ouse k eeper , who 
had only been with 
him a few days, had 
hid herself in the 
little room with a 
view to catching 
sight of Sir Frede- 
rick departing for 
the Royal Academy, 
On opening the door 
she nearly fell into 
his arms. Sir Fre- 
derick happily real- 
ised the situation, 
and in the most 

genial manner possible turned himselt 
round and round, and laughingly asked 
his housekeeper what she thought of him. 

Sir Frederick Leightoivs birth took place 
at Scarborough on December 3, 1830, There 
seems to be some little doubt as to which 
was the house in which this very interest- 
ing event took place. One thing is certain, 
that it was situated in Brunswick- terrace. 
A large private hotel and boarding-house 
has been erected on the old site. It seems 
that the old building was not entirely de- 

STlUV FOK A l-'U^fcJS 

molished, but the present one was built 
over it, the walls of several of the rooms 
Iking utilised as they stood. The lady who 
owns the hotel has stated that when her 
late husband purchased the place, they were 
given to understand that Sir Frederick was 
born in No* 1 room. The next-door neigh- 
bour, however, claimed for his house the 

honour of being 
connected with Sir 
Frederick. They de- 
termined to decide 
the dispute some 
years ago by an 
appeal to the great 
artist himself, and 
wrote to him accord* 
ingly. He was, how- 
ever, unable to de- 
finitely locale the 
place of his birth, 
and so both houses 
still claim the dis- 

At a very early 
age the future Pre- 
sident of the Royal 
Academy evinced a 
strong talent for 
painting. It is a 
curious fact that 
whilst both his 
father and grand- 
father were doctors, 
and many other 
members of his 
family were talented 
in music, with the 
one exception of his 
mother's brother 
none of his relations 
showed any aptitude 
for drawing, His 
parents never for a 
moment doubted his 
qualifications for an 
artist, even at this 
early age ; they simply dec ined to trust 
their own judgment in allowing their boy 
to follow art as a profession. Still> little 
Leighton never lost an opportunity of 
using his pencil. Every facility was given 
to him to follow out his inclinations, and 
his father, being a medical man, naturally 
saw that his son was well instructed in 
anatomy. At ten years of age his family 
went to Rome, and Sir Frederick began 
taking lessons from Signor Mtli, but it 
was not until he was fourteen, when in 

AMJtiuMAtllli. ' 

I 3 6 


Florence, that his future career was decided 
upon. His father said to him ; 

44 Now, Fred, give me a number of 
your designs, and I will take them to Mr. 
Powers/' referring to Hiram Powers, the 
celebrated American sculptor. H If he says 
that you will be a distinguished artist, all 
well and good* If not t you must give up 
the idea." 

His father task some sketches , including 
a great battle-scene suggested by one of 
M acaulay's 

44 And what is 
the verdict, Mr. 
Powers? "asked 
Mr. Leighton. 
44 Shall I make 
him an artist ?" 

The reply 
was; "You can't 
help yourself, 
sir ; Nature has 
done it for you." 

44 Will he be 
an eminent ar- 
tist ? " then 
asked Mr. 

The answer 
was: li Sir, your 
son can be as 
eminent as he 

This settled 
the whole ques- 
tion, and the 
youthful artist 
from that day 
was allowed free 
course in the 

' 4 1 have a 
slight recollec- 
tion of my first drawing ma&ter/' said Sir 
Frederick. 4i While at Rome I remember 
saying to my father, 4 I want to learn draw- 
ing/ ' All right/ was the reply, 4 go and 
get a master,' I made inquiries, obtained 
the address of a raan T went to him and en- 
gaged him, I remember he was very much 
amused when he found that I knew how to 
write down his name and address ; but he 
gave me most cartful attention, and outline 
drawings to copy. He was very firm ; if he 
did not like my copy he used to put three 
strokes across it, and make me do it again." 

Young Leighton then studied in the 
Academy at Berlin, then at Frankfort-on- 



Main, and afterwards %vent to Brussels, 
where he painted his first important pic- 
ture, representing Cirnabuc finding Giotto 
drawing in the fields. So years passed on 
in studying in Paris, copying pictures in 
the Louvre, and returning again to Frank- 
fort. The first picture which told English- 
men of the genius of Sir Frederick was 
41 Cimabue's Procession/' exhibited at the 
Royal Academy in 1855. 

44 1 shall never forget packing that pic- 
ture up to send 
it to England/' 
said Sir Frede* 
rick : i4 1 was in 
Rome at the 
time. I found 
some of the 
colours on the 
canvas were 
quite wet, but I 
risked it ; and, 
taking sonic 
varnish with a 
brush, I went 
for my picture. 
It was still so 
w T et that the 
paint came cfT 
by touching it 
with a handker- 
chief. However, 
it arrived in 
England as 
sound as ?. rock, 
and the Queen 
bought i^ im- 
mediately it was 
exhibited.' 1 

It was in 
Rome that 
whilst Leigh- 
ton's name was 
barely known in England, wrote to Millais 
and told him that he had met a 44 versatile 
young dog who will run you hard for the 
presidentship one day/ 1 With the advent 
of u Cimabue's Procession" his fame was 
established and his genius at once recog- 
nised. He did not, however, come to Eng- 
land for four years after his first great 
success. From the time he settled in this 
country up to the present day every pic- 
ture that he has painted has called for 
diligent study from the public. He was 
elected an Associate of the Royal Academy 
in 1864, and an Academician in 1869, He 
became President 1 in., succession to Sir 




Francis Grant on November 13, 1878. In 
that year the French Exhibition was held, 
and he was made President of the British 
section there, and received the Legion of 

11 The first statue! did/* said Sir Frederick, 
M was that of an athlete wrestling with a 
python* The little sketch for this I merely 
did casualh*. It took but a short time to 
model, and there was no question of ex- 
hibiting it. But one or two friends saw 
the model, amongst them Legros, who re- 
marked, i Why not carry it out on a larger 
scale ? T I laughed, thinking I should not 
be able to manage it, but finally succeeded. 
It occupied a couple of years in com- 
pleting, working on it occasionally. Itw T as 
eventually bought under the Chantrey 
bequest, sent to Paris, and got a first-class 
gold medal and diploma. I also did the 

Sluggard ' and ' Needless Alarm.' >? 
Seeing that Sir Frederick always declines 
to express himself on any great artistic sub- 
ject in the haphazard way in which we 
were chatting together, I contented myself 
with asking him one or two questions on 
the very simple 
topics of can- 
vases, colours, 
models and 
methods of 

14 1 never give 
my whole atten- 
tion to one pic- 
ture at the same 
time," said Sir 
Frederick ; u I 
invariably have 
six or seven 
canvases going, 
and I find it 
gives me all the 
rest I need to 
go from one to 
the other, work- 
ing a little bit 
here and a little 
bit there. By 
this means the 
eye is constantly 
refreshed ; I get 
through a good 
deal of work by 
this system. I 
have no special 
models, and 
there is no 
model who sits 

to me alone. Models are constantly ring- 
ing at my side door, anxious to become en- 
gaged, just as they do at the doors of other 
studios. The faces I paint are never the 
faces of my models ; what the artist puts 
on the canvas is the impression which 
the model produces upon him — what he 
feels inwardly, and not what he sees before 
him, Yes, I am very devoted to drapery, 
and invariably use a certain kind of muslin 
for dresses. In a picture the colour of a 
garment is an invention on the part of the 
artist, and not a copy of the colour of any 
fabric. It is quite a mistake to imagine 
that we take a garment out of a cupboard 
and paint it ; it is simply used for getting 
the form and folds ; the colour is conceived, 
I consider that the colours used to-day, if 
properly prepared, ought to be far better 
and much more durable than those of the 
past. In the days of Sir Joshua Reynolds 
and Wilkie, during the reign of asphaltum, 
a. colour used very largely then but now 
quite out of use, the pictures suffered very 
much. Although I have been painting in 
oils exactly fifty yeais, I have only had one 

single accident 
happen with a 
pigment/ 1 

Sir Frederick 
Leighton sel- 
dom paints por- 
traits. He con- 
siders it ** fet- 
ters one down, 
as you are 
simply bound 
to satisfy your 
subject." He 
cannot work 
under restraint, 
neither can he 
use his brush 
whilst being 
watched ; he 
could not touch 
a canvas with 
his most inti- 
mate friend by 
his side looking 
on. He likes 
to work with 
a large palette, 
and by prefer- 
ence with one of 
lemon -coloured 


IIakky How, 

Shafts from an Eastern Quiver \ 

By Charles J, Mansfokd, B A. 

Y all that's wonderful ! M ex- 
claimed Deuviers* w Look 
yonder, Harold ! f ' and he 
pointed towards a jagged 
ridge which rose in majestic 
grandeur from the mighty 
volcanic valley of the Lar. 

I turned my glance in the direction indi- 
cated by my companion, and, for a moment, 
could not give utterance to my surprise at 
the strange sight. 

"The woman must be mad,** I blurted 
out at last ; l( one false step, or even a breath 
of wind, will send her headlong down to 
the valley beneath, a 
shapeless and lifeless 
mass, 11 

41 Yet that fate would 
bring her rest and for- 
getfulness," said 
Hassan, who stood with 
us gazing from the 
height of the Aftcha 
Pass. There was a 
strange pathos iti the 
Arab's voice as he 
spoke, and Denviers, 
knowing that Hassan 
had uttered the truth 
concerning our re- 
cent visit to Petra, 
was silent, 

Leaving Petra, 
we had travelled 
eastward again, and 
at last found our- 
selves traversing 
this grand pass ; 
for we were now 
in the heart of 
Per&ia, a country 
which we knew wouM 
amply repay us for the 
long, dreary journey 
which led from the 
scene of our last ad- 
venture in Arabia. 

Owing to the intense heat of the day, we 
travelled only between sunset and sunrise, 
passing the rest of the time within the 
beautifully woven tent which Hassan had 

procured for us on entering Persia, in place 
of the rough camel-skin covering which 
had sheltered us from the sun in Arabia. 

At the foot of the pass we had bargained 
with a nomadic Hilyat for the possession of 
two black Afghan horses on which we rode, 
Hassan leading the sumpter mules laden 
with our baggage. 

It was a weird spectacle which met our 
eyes as we stood gazing at the snow-clad 
crest of De ma vend in the distance, the 
silvery Lar winding its way down in the 
valley beneath, while around us were 
mountain tops, separated by the precipices 
on either side of the 
pot on which we stood. 
In the moonlight 
that streamed down 
and flooded the top- 
most ridge of the moun- 
tain before us, stood a 
woman with her hair 
hanging in tangled 
masses, framing the 
beauty of her olive 
complexion and lus- 
trous eyes as it fell 
over her shoulders in 
wild profusion. The 
white garment which 
clothed her was en- 
circled at the 
waist by a belt, 
which flashed as 
the rays of the 
■ moon fell upon 
the jewels which 
studded it. The 
expression of an 
infinite sadness 
which stamped 
features seemed 
in accord with 
Hassan's remark. 

" Do you know her 
history ? JI asked Den- 
viers, in response to 
the vague words of Hassan* 

"The child of Arabia's desert, to whom 
the lore of these Eastern countries is known, 
has indeed heard h-ar story, but iO ill be- 



h - 



comes the Sunnce, as a true worshipper 
aad a believer in Mahomet, 10 speak of the 
hateful Sheahs/ 1 I knew how deep the 
jealousy of the Arabs and Persians was, as 
10 the merits of their respective claims as 
true followers of the Prophet, but Hassan 
had never before refused to satisfy our 
curiosity whenever able. 
Indeed, as Denviers often 
li inted , when facts failed 
him, Hassan was quite 
able to tiarrate some story 
of which we could only 
conclude he was the ori- 

" Come, Hassan/' 
said Denviers, "I don't 
suppose the Prophet 
will object to our hear- 
ing what brings this 
woman here, far 
away from tile 
haunts of her race/' 
The Arab's face only 
seemed to become 
more resolute at this 

4i I will not speak 
of the false Sheahs," 
he responded almost 
angrily ; "seek from 
4he woman herself 
the information 
which you desire. 11 
I looked in surprise, 
first at Hassan, then 
into Denviers 1 face* 

"Don't rouse his 
fanatical prejudices, 
whatever you do, 11 
I whispered ; " we 
cannot afford to 
quarrel with him 
just now ; after all, 
Hassan has been 
more faithful to us 
by far than most of 
his fraternity would 
have been. 1 ' 

I stopped sud- 
denly* The woman 
had observed us, 

and, uttering a plaintive cry, as of some 
hunted animal, began to descend the moun- 
tain side, My head grew dizzy as I saw 
her clinging with her delicate hands to 
projections of the mountain to steady her- 
self as she made her way down the almost 
perpendicular slope* We sprang from 


our horses and stood watching her with 

ki Look here, Harold, M said Denviers, " I 
feel certain that there is something very 
strange recorded with regard to this woman. 
Hassan is not usually so reticent ; I have a 
good mind to scale the precipice on this 
side, and to meet her as 
^Iie reaches the valley be- 

I moved close to the 
edge of the rocky path 
which formed the pass 
along which we had jour- 
neyed, and then looked 

h udder i ugly down. 

li I doubt whether you 
would reach the bottom 
alive or not,** I responded ; 
" there are possibly plenty 
of adventures ili store for 
us without risking this 
descent. Still, I too feel 
a strange desire to learn 
this woman's history, and 
if you run the risk of 
climbing down I will cer- 
tainly follow." Denviers 
turned to Hassan, who 
seemed to take little in- 
terest in the conversation, 

II You can wait here till 
we have reached the val- 
ley below, then make for 
the road towards Deiua- 
vend. After proceeding a 
farsakh (four miles), pitch 

the tent, there we 
will endeavour to 
rejoin you at 
daybreak to-mor- 
row," The Arab 
bent his head 
obediently, and 
stood with folded 
arms to watch 
the mad attempt 
which we were 
about to make. 
A minute after- 
wards Denviers 
was cautiously 
making his way down the side of the 
precipice. I gave one glance at the white- 
clad figure of the woman, who was now 
two hundreds yards below, then, with a 
determination to abide by Denviers in the 
hazardous attempt, began to follow him. 

I B^S:?fi , ? , ? 1 fM,^ tionweslipi,ed 



and tumbled time after time, while the 
jagged projections tore our garments and 
lacerated our hands and feet badly, for we 
had bared the later for the purpose of obtain- 
ing a firmer foothold than we might other- 
wise have done. How long the descent 
really occupied we could scarcely tell ; but, 
, k with death so imminent, each minute 
seemed to us an eternity. 

Half way down we stopped for a moment, 
and, resting on a shelving piece of the 
mountain, looked across to where the woman 
was. She still outdistanced us in the 
descent, but we were surely though slowly 
gaining upon her. 

44 We shall reach the valley as soon as 
bhe does," said Denviers. " It is a terrible 
strain, but we must go on now, to return 
would be impossible." He scrambled down 
the , side of the rock on which we had 
rested, and when he had descended about 
twenty yards I followed. 

Exhausted, and with every bone in our 
bodies aching, we reached the valley at last, 
and, like two men who had just escaped 
death, we grasped each other's hand firmly 
for a moment. Then we crossed the valley 
and hastened in the direction where we 
observed the woman had just descended. 

The silence which she had hitherto main- 
tained, save for that one solitary cry, was 
broken ; for, on seeing us in pursuit of her, 
she gave utterance to wild, weird screams of 
fear, and fled down the valley. We followed 
closely, and saw her disappear in a long 
jagged fissure which seemed as if it had been 
made by a shaft of lightning quivering 
through the solid rock. Through this gap 
we went, and in a few minutes emerged into 
a second valley, led thither by the fugitive. 

As soon as she reached this spot, the 
woman stopped, and seemed to have for- 
gotten altogether that we were pursuing 
her. So strange were the surroundings, 
and so brilliant was the scene which met 
our gaze, that we hesitated to approach her, 
and, hiding in a slight hollow, shadowed 
partly from the moon's rays, we looked 
closely at the woman's face — beautiful even 
amid the wonders which the valley disclosed. 

We held a whispered conversation as to 
the best method in which we might get her 
to converse with us without fear, and finally 
we determined to await the course of 
events, which we thought might help on 
our desire, 

The valley which we had entered was 
entirely composed of a wondrous jasper of 

a yellowish tinge, which seemed at intervals 
to become blue or crimson, while from its 
sides, which were elaborately carved with 
Eastern designs, there arose at the far end 
what appeared to us to be the remains of a 
gigantic portal, fully a hundred feet in 
height. Above was the blue sky, spangled 
with stars, among which one, larger than 
the rest, seemed to shed its silver rays upon 
the valley below, not less intense than did 
the crescent moon. 

The form of the woman seemed to move 
about as if it were the ghost of some one risen 
from the grave to haunt the scene of its 
former joys or sorrows. Presently from out of 
a small embrasure was drawn some material 
which she kindled, and then, lying partly 
prone before it, she fixed her gaze intently 
on the glowing embers, glancing occasion- 
ally at the star shining in splendour above. 
As her eyes seemed to become yet more 
fixed upon the fire, Denviers cautiously 
advanced, and motioned to me to follow. He 
moved to where the woman was, and, reach- 
ing the place, quietly seated himself oppo- 
site to her. I followed his example, and 
was surprised to observe that, in spite of our 
presence, the woman's eyes were not directed 
towards us. I felt a strange nervous feel- 
ing run through me at the silence which 
reigned around us, unbroken by any of the 
three beings gathered round the fire. 

Glancing at the woman's face again, I 
observed that her features seemed to be 
wrapped in a trance-like repose, although 
her eyes still shone full and lustrous. 

"We would know why it is that you 
wander here alone, nor fear the terrors of 
the night ? " Denviers ventured to say, in a 
tone which seemed to me strangely subdued 
and calm. The woman's lips parted, and 
she answered in Arabic : — 

4i Why seek ye to learn ? Are not the 
sorrows of one sufficient for that one to 

44 1 know not," responded Denviers, "but 
thou, fair as a flower, surely hast no cause 
for sorrow." 

44 Listen and decide," answered the woman, 
44 then will ye know what troubles my spirit, 
for I am destined to wander without rest 
because of the deed which was mine when 
Prince Kasmir lived in this land." She 
paused and glanced again at the star above, 
while, for a moment, the deep impress of 
sorrow returned to her countenance as she 
did so. Then, looking once more into the 
glowing embers, she continued : — 

44 Years ago, when this glittering valley 



was the courtyard of a prince's palace, I was 
the beloved of Prince Kasmir. In his pre- 
sence the hours would fly as if they were 
minutes, while without him time passed 
drearily indeed. There was a 
law in Persia that prince and # 

peasant must not wed, but my 
lover heeded it not ; he knew 
that one day he would rule over 


"looking into the glowing embers." 

this country, and such a law he vowed 
should not be suffered to exist. 

44 Every night, when those within the 
palace were asleep, be would steal out and 
wander side by side with me through the 
valleys down to the lotus-kissed waters of 
the Lar, which flows not far from here. 
Beneath the shade of a friendly tree was 
hidden a boat T and, entering it, we voyaged 
together, his oars keeping time to the "melo- 
dies which we sang together of love and its 

" Before the grey dawn came stealing 
with ghostly raiment up the vale T we would 
return ; he tn the palace and I to the 
humble tent wherefrom I nightly stole, 
Happy indeed were we, until in an evil hour 
the queen of a country on the far borders 
of Arabia came to visit the Persian land. 
Standing among the crowd of peasants and 
nomads that thronged the palace gate* I saw 
the long retinue pass in, and lastly a regal 
woman was borne upon a sumptuous litter, 

and by her side walked my adored , Prince 

14 He had told me of the expected coming 
of this Eastern queen, but had laughed 
when I murmured that perhaps his love 
would fly frurn me to her. He promised 
to come from his palace the next night 
as usual, but hour after houT passed and 
yet he did not appear. Never again 
did he meet me as of old, for a new 
love had filled his breast, and then 
there came to me strange rumours 
that Kasmir was to wed the queen, in 
order that the tw T countries might 
in this way be united, and ruled as if 
they were but one, 

"At first I could not believe it, 
then I began to wander at 
nightfall alone ; and once, 
when I ventured 
into this valley of 
jasper, I saw two 
lovers come forth 
from yonder arch- 
way. They talked 
and laughed to 
get her, and the 
maiden leant her 
head upon the 
shoulder of the 
man at her side. I crept close 
to them, hidden by the shadow 
of yonder wall* 

The maiden had come from Eastern 
lands, and, by the rich pearls of mystic 
hue which she wore, I knew that this 
must be the queen whom 1 had seen once 
before. At first the man's face was partly 
hidden from me, but he raised it, and, 
gazing into his companion's eyes, their lips 
met in a lover's kiss ; but I, wretched 
beyond measure, fell prostrate in the friendly 
shadow, for in that moment I recognised 
Prince Kasmir, and I knew that the rumour 
was true, and that my lover was lost to me 
for ever ! 

u 1 lay there, still and silent, until the 
two passed through the archway once 
more ; then I went slowly back to the tent, 
dejected and alone. 

bl In the tribe of the Hilyats there dwelt 
one who was famous for charms of great 
potency, and to him I went and told, with 
many a sigh, that my lover was false. He 
was kind to me, and promised aid. When 
I went to him again he said that the stars 
had agreed to help me to regain the Prince's 
affection. . r jgj n al from 

"li:Wttf e a fire of 




glowing embers upon this spot, such as the 
one ye now sec, and waited for the coming 
of night. Silting beside it, I was told to 
watch the lovers, and, when they passed 
into the jasper vale, to blow the embers, 
that they might glow redder still, as the 
charm which was given me was mingled 
with them. Then should my lover be 
restored to me, and the queen who had 
stolen his love should perish. So said the 
great magician. 

u When the stars came out I heard the 
sound of voces, as before ; then the lovers 
appeared from under the archway. I 
placed the charm upon the embers, and, 
tanning them with my breath t next looked 
up at the great star which shone brighter 
than the others, and begged it to be pitiful 
and to restore to me my beloved. 

11 As I did so, a sudden light appeared 
above, for the star burst and fell upon the 
lovers ! I hastened forward, for the magi- 
cian had told me that the Prince would be 
uninjured, Alas ! when I reached the spot 

nothing waft there, for the Prince 
and his adored one had dis- 
appeared. I looked up to the 
sky once more, but the great star 
was no longer to be seen ; while 
in its place were two others, 
smaller, but shining together, as 
if the twain had become stars 
set in the blue heaven to abide 
for ever side by side, 

41 1 ran shrieking from the val- 
ley, and wandered aimlessly for 
days 011 the mountain slopes. I 
could not die, and now my spirit 
urges me ever to visit this valley 
at nightfall. Years have passed 
since then ; the palace of the 
Prince has disappeared, but amid 
the ruins of this jasper vale I 
wander sadly, or climb the deso- 
late mountain peaks, 

" When the great star which 
ye *ee above appears, I kindle 
a fire, as I did of old, for then 
do I see the star fall again and 
the lovers perish. The magi- 
cian deceived me, for he hated 
the Prince, and used me as 
the means of destroying him.* 1 


Throughout the narrative 
neither of us had interrupted ; 
on its conclusion I glanced 
uneasily at my companion. 

14 What do you think about this star ? " 
I whispered. For reply, Denviers pointed 
towards the woman, who had partly raised 
herself, and was engaged in endeavouring 
to make the embers glow brighter, After 
remaining silent for some minutes before 
answering my question, Denviers at last 
said — 

11 If there is any truth in what we have 
been told* I think the proof of it will soon 
be forthcoming. 1 ' 

w The woman seems to be strangely 
moved," I continued ; " would it not be bel- 
ter for us to move away to the spot from 
where we watched her as she kindled the 
fire ? " To this question Denviers assented, 
and we took up a position from which we 
could observe clearly whatever happened 
in the valley* 

i+ Do you think she is mad ? f! I asked. 
Then, without waiting for my companion 
to answer, I grasped his arm firmly to en- 
join silence,-}- ■ -i f rQLrn 



saw I was eagerly looking, and which was 
towards the jasper gateway, 

A thin film of mist seemed to ine to 
have arisen, and in the midst of it the 
face of a woman apparently arose. Clearer 
and more distinct it seemed to become, and 
then the form of the Queen appeared cliuf ill 
a flowing robe, and adorned with strings of 
pearls about her neck and arms, while upon 
her head there glittered a diamond tiara, 

As the star above her seemed to shine 
still brighter, a nun, tall and majestic^ was 
to be seen at her side, and the lovers were 
bathed in a silvery light that ? streamed 
down upon them, 

11 Frank ! J1 I whispered, in an awestruck 
tone, ''are they living beings upon whom 
we gaze, or are they spirits risen from the 
dead ? " 

" Hush, Harold ! " he answered, quietly, 
" your sight must be keener than mine, for 
at present I see nothing there." 

The woman by the embers rose, the calm 
expression vanished from her countenance, 
and she staggered forward with outstretched 
arms. We watched the scene intently. 
When she reached the jasper gate, she 
flung herself wildly on her knees, as she 
exclaimed — 

11 Kasmir,my 
beloved one, 
once again art 
thou come from 
the sleeping 
shades that my 
eyes may rest 
upon thee, and 
that I may 
lament the love 
which all ui> 
knowingly de- 
stroyed thee," 

The man 
seemed to turn 
coldly from her, 
then bent for- 
ward, and 
glanced passion - 
ately into the 
eyes of the form 
at his side. 

The star 
above seemed 
for a moment to 
cleave the sky, 
then, bursting 
into myriads, 
fell in a shower 
like a silver sea, 

and enveloped wh^t appeared to me to be 
the forms of the lovers and the woman 
kneeling vainly at their feet ! 

Almost imniediately the vale assumed 
its former appearance, and we rushed 
forward, but found only the woman, to 
whose story Wf had listened, kneeling with 
clasped hands and that look of infinite 
sorrow upon her face which we had seen 

Our presence roused her, for she instan^ 
taneously started up, and, darting through 
the portal of the jasper gate, disappeared. 
We followed her at a headlong pace, and, 
after traversing the ruins of a stately 
palace, saw her flying in the distance before 
us at an almost incredible pace. At last 
we stopped, exhausted with our vain efforts 
to overtake her, and saw her mounting a 
fantastic ridge that stood out rugged and 
desolate against the starlit sky. Thru 
she disappeared, and nothing remained to 
us but the recol legion of her dreamy yet 
troubled face ! 

As we rested, before proceeding to 
attempt to find a way which might lead to 
where Hassan had encamped, I asked 
Denviers again whether he thought the 
forms which I had seen were real. To 
my surprise he declared that nothing 
had passed before his eyes save the 
woman to whom he had spoken, 

"But," I persisted, " I saw them dis- 
tinctly/ 1 

He smiled as he answered — 
14 No doubt you did, in imagination, 
Harold. The fact 
is the woman's story 
was so, impressed 
upon your mind 
that, when you 
looked towards the 





jasper arch, you expected to see such a 

"And the falling star/' I interrupted, 
" was that imaginary, too ? " 

He turned to- 
wards me as he 
responded : 

" No, you saw 
something then, 
What the true 
story of the cause 
of this woman's 
insanity may be* 
we are not likely 
to learn, but the 
explanation of 
the falling star, or 
Tather shower of 
stars, is simple 
enough. Oncer* 
tain known days 
in each year the 
earth crosses the 
orbit of a stream 
of meteorites 
above here. 
When this occurs 
a shower of fall- 
ing stars may be 
seen, and the 
woman has accus- 
tomed herself to 
connect a purely natural event with the 
highly imaginative reappearance of her 
lover. However, we have had a strange 


adventure- I hope we shall soon find our 

way out of this valley." 

And, rising, we renamed our journey, and 

before long fortunately reached the spot 

where Hassan was 

"Will the 
Englishmen for- 
give me ? " he 
asked. t4 1 could 
not speak to them 
of the one who, in 
a jealous moment, 
despoiled one 
kingdom of its 
prince and an- 
other of the queen 
who reigned over 
it. M 

We made a 
suitable reply, 
and, entering the 
tent , worn out 
with the events 
of the night, 
sought repose 
amid the words 
of Hassan, in 
which he d e- 
clared fyimself the 
dust of our feet, 
and expressed 

his determination to ask the felicities to 

abide with us for so readily forgiving 


by Google 

Original from 

Boy Soldiers and Saiiors. 

By Frances H. Low. 



HERE are various causes 
which combine to make the 
KingVroad, Chelsea, one of 
the least agreeable thorough- 
tares of the M etrcpolis, From 
the aesthetic point of view 
also it can hardly be considered satisfactory. 
An endless succession of omnibuses, unin- 
viting barrows, and squalid shops are the 
principal characteristics of the road, which 
is yet interesting to the stranger by reason 
of certain unique features inseparably 
associated with it. Tommy Atkins in his 
military splendours is a common enough 
and not invariably pkasing spectacle, but 
thoss fine fellows the Chelsea pensioners, 
with their gallant bearing, scarred faces, and 
maimed limbs, somehow arrest the atten- 
tion of the most careless observer, and send 
his mind back to the roar of cannon and 
the smoke and slaughter of the battlefield, 
where so many of these heroes sounded the 
death-knell of their vigorous manhood. Not 
less interesting than the veterans who havr; 
gained their laurels and laid down their 
arms, are the little bright-faced, red-coated 
lads standing on the threshold of the fight, 

who belong to the Royal Military 
Asylum; and whose decorum and ex- 
cellent behaviour in the street are not 
the least result of their training and 
discipline within the walls of the big 
brick building, founded by the Duke 
of York during the long Napoleonic Avars 
for the numerous orphaned children of 
soldiers* The Institution is now supported 
by Government, and feeds, clothes, and 
educates every year 550 boys between the 
ages of nine and fourteen, the sons or 
orphans of non-commissioned officers of 
good character. At fourteen the majority 
of the boys go into the regular army, 
chiefly into the Artillery and Engineers, 
either as collar-makers, smiths, clerks, or 
drummers, Owing to the splendid effi- 
ciency of the school band a large propor- 
tion enter the army band at once, and 
amongst the names of distinguished band- 
masters who have been boys in the school 
are those of Lazarus and Thomas, 

A record is kept of every lad who has 
passed through the school, and at the 
beginning of this year there were eerving 
in the army 10' commissioned officers, 
31 schoolmasters, \2 bandmasters, and 47 
band sergeants, besides many others hold- 
ing the grade of sergeant-major, master 
gunners, and so forth- In addition, out 
of 1,368 of the boys who have entered 

the a^ifcii^cE^^niir -<rpA.-4%?n (ts5»Ln«* out badl y> 



whilst one has risen to the rank of Lieut- 

As we walk up to the school, a little 
group of boys in front of us gives us an 
opportunity of examining and admiring 
their smart turn-out In the summer the 
lads wear blue uniforms, whilst in winter 
with the same blue trousers piped with 
scarlet, they have scarlet tunics, faced with 
dark blue, Glengarry caps piped with red 3 
and stout well-shined Blucher shoes with 

We pass through the gate, and one of the 
two small sentries stationed there comes out 
of his little box and asks us, with an air of 
immense importance, what our business is. 
When 1 inform him we are concerned with 
the Commandant, he offers to escort us, 
and perforins this action with the utmost 
politeness. There is one feature that 
strikes and impresses the stranger the in- 
stant he enters the Asylum, and remains 
with him throughout — more especially if he 
has had experience of other institutions — 
the freedom and absolute lack of repression 
that characterise its inmates. There is, 
of course, during work hours the severest 
military discipline, but the boys evince no 
timidity in saying what they think ; and. 
even in the presence of the Commandant, 
there was none of that horrible intangible 
kind of terrorism which the authorities of 
these institutions frequently contrive to 
inspire in the breasts of the youthful per- 
sons in their care. 

Thanks to the kindness of Colonel Fitz- 
gerald, the Commandant, and Lieutenant 
Thomas, the Adjutant, I had ample oppor- 
tunities given me of seeing the whole 
working of the school, and also of putting 
questions to the lads, who, so far as I could 
gather, have no possible cause of complaint. 
Their day's work commences early. At 
ten to six the gymnasium master rouses 
three boys, who dress, and then go into the 
courtyard and sound the reveille at three 
different points — north, south, and central 
— so that there is no fear of any sluggard 
failing to be aroused. 

All the boys have rank of some kind, 
with definite military duties. On first 
arriving, the little fellow is a u private," and 
I fancy he is quite proud of this grade, 
until he learns how much better off cor- 
porals are, with pocket money for sweets 
and tarts. Privates are made up into com- 
panies of eighty boys, over which there are 
four acting lance-corporals. 

The advantage of being an acting lance- 

corporal consists in being entitled to one 
penny a week pocket-money, which comes 
in conveniently for one of the most impor- 
tant institutions of the Asylum in the eyes 
of the boys, viz., the tuck-shop. The 
acting lance-corporals wear a gold stripe on 
the right arm. Above them are lance- 
corporals, who get twopence a week, and 
also wear a gold stripe, and still higher are 
full corporals, or colour corporals, who get 
threepence a week, and wear two stripes 
and a crown. There is only one corporal to 
each company, so that it is a highly coveted 


post* Above the corporals are monitors, of 
whom there are seven. They are the boys 
who are kept on after fourteen to be trained 
as pupil teachers, and they ultimately go 
into the army, where they obtain excellent 
positions as schoolmasters, receiving, during 
a period of six months 1 probation, 2s, 6d. a 
day, and when duly qualified , 4s* 6d« a day. 
Finally, the whole company is under the 
command of a sergeant, who is a non- 
commissioned officer in the regular army. 

Here a little chap in a blouse ran across 
the passage, and on his telling me that he 
was an orderly I followed him into the 
mess-room, wlwre dinner operations were 

going mi vERSltY OF MICHIGAN 



To see these little chaps — there are two 
orderlies to each mess — polishing up the 
mugs and cutting up huge portions of 
bread and cheese in the swiftest and deftest 
manner is most entertaining. As soon as 
everything k ready the bugle sounds, and 
a small drummer stations himself by the 
door and beats a tattoo, Then, at the word, 
44 fall in," the boys file in two abreast, after 
which there is another tattoo for attention, 
grace is said, and, at the final drum-beat, 
the hungry boys fall to. 

The day of my visit happened to be 
the one day of the week when there is no 
meat provided. Instead, were enormous 
lumps of bread and cheese— which the boys 
unmistakably appreciated, and which they 
despatched with more activity than grace — 
followed by portions of hot plum-pudding, 

have taken part. During dinner there is 
much clattering of tongues and laughing, 
and it certainly adds to the lads' enjoyment 
that their meal is not partaken in silence. 

Dinner over, the rest of the boys go out 
for a short play, whilst the small orderlies 
don their blouses, take away the things, 
and proceed to wash and burnish brightly 
the mugs, pewter dishes, and meat -tins. 
Their energy rather surprises you, till you 
are told that prizes are given for the 
smartest mess-table, and when you are 
further told that the prizes are tarts and 
pies, you understand the strength of the 

What, perhaps, strikes the observer as 
much as anything else is the curious and 
interesting two-sidedness presented by the 
lads. During parade, gun drill, and duty 


which one little lad condescendingly in- 
vited me to taste, remarking, Lt Here's a 
plummy bit ! ,T I could not discern a single 
portion which was not overrun and over* 
whelmed with plums, but anyway it was 
excellent to the taste. As the boys get 
Van Ho u ten's cocoa for breakfast, meat and 
pudding every day but Friday for dinner, 
and bread and jam and milk for supper, 
they are tolerably well off in the matter of 
diet* The mess-room is a big, cheerful 
room, with arms and lances ranged upon 
the upper part of the walls, beneath which, 
on red scrolls, are engraved the names of 
Waterloo, Balaclava, Tel-el -Kebir, and 
other historic battles tn which heroes w T ho 
were trained inside the walls of the Asylum 

generally, they are little automatons. 
Their prompt obedience, their precision, 
their self-control and discipline, astonish 
you, and you begin to wonder whether 
anything of the original boy -nature re 
mains ; but see them ten minutes later 
in the grounds playing rounders or cricket, 
or, better still, scrambling and fighting at 
the tuck-shop for possession of " monster " 
sticks — which, by the bye, are all examined 
first by the resident medical officer — and 
your fears vanish. 

The little tuck-shop, bearing upon its 
front the fascinating words, is in a recess of 
one of the corridors, and is presided over 
by a capable cUme, the wife of the gymna- 
siui4ltfl^^T¥^tJ#^fil[tt at interest in 



the lads. She and the sewing-mistress and 
a sick-attendant are the only feminine 
elements of the 
Asylum, which 
is manned from 
Commandant to 
cook, by the 
v stronger sex. 
After 3.30, 
when all book- 
work is over, the 





exercise, sewing, 
tailoring, the entire 
school being divided 
>\ into halves, which 
alternately play and 
work in the afternoons. In the sewing- 
room, in which were some fifty boys making 
flannel vests, and darning and repairing, 
we were able to delight the heart. of the 
sewing-mistress by our enthusiastic and 
truthful praises of her pupils 1 work. Such 

wonderfully neat darns ! 
as if the fingers of the 
British boy, when trained , 
are more expert than those 
of his sister. From the 
sewing-room we went to 
the tailoring-room, which 
is under the superintend- 
ence of a master. There 
was an un conventionality 
and freedom here which 
delighted us. The boys 
sat on benches in their 
fla n nel sh i r t s , wh i 1st se vera 1 
had dispensed with more 
indispensable garments. 
One small boy, whom our 
artist was lucky enough 
to catch, was energetically 
ironing his trousers, hav- 
ing meanwhile artistically 
draped himself in a leather 

It almost seems 

dilating little kit-bag with which each boy 
is provided ; it is a tiny little arrangement 
holding a needle and a thimble, 
whilst cotton is served out by the 
master, I suppose with a view of 
its not being squandered by in- 
geniously reckless boys. At the 
top of the room one little fellow 
was working a sewing machine, and 
all the children were merrily plying 
the needle with relaxation in the 
shape of subdued conversation. 
Perhaps more actual enjoyment in 
their labours was evinced down- 
stairs in the big play-room by the 
band of musicians, whose energies 
were set on mastering intricacies 
of drum and fife. The sound of 
fifty learners operating on fifes and wooden 
pads covered with leather, which do duty 
for drums, made our stay rather shorter 
than it would otherwise have been ; and we 
were fain to acknowledge, as we lingered 
for a moment watching the absurdly small 
players energetically puffing away, that the 
drum and fife band seemed to require dis- 
tance and atmosphere to make it pleasant 
to the ear. 

Leaving these bright, healthy looking 
youngsters, we pay a visit to the pale- 
faced invalids upstairs who are in hospital. 
Most of the patients who are convalescent/ 
clad in long grey -blue flannel coats, are 
amusing themselves in the day-room with 
books and draughts, whilst the sick boys 
in the spotless white and blue quilt beds 
appear to be suffering from nothing much 

mseir in a learner 
There is a fas- 

" TK PWrV'ER?m ,| i3rarCHIGAN 



worse than colds and coughs. The autho- 
rities justly pride themselves on their high 
standard of health. 

well be made briefer, and, what is still 
more important, the sermons should be at 
least specially written and adapted for the 


The purely military side of the Asylum 
is best seen on Sundays, when the minia- 
ture red-coats are put through their weekly 
inspection and drill. The little army, extra- 
well groomed, and washed, and shinedi as 
regards cheeks and boots, assembles on 
parade ground at ten o'clock at the sound 
of "church call" by the drums and fifes, 
and is disposed in companies, with sergeants 
in cocked hats in front, whilst the recruits 
are behind. The real band boys, in their 
scarlet and gold coats, who are a little way 
off, strike up a charming march, and a 
moment later a clanking is heard, and up 
comes the Commandant, followed by his 
Adjutant, in full military splendour. A 
severe inspection then takes place, followed 
by drill, gun practice, and finally a double- 
breasted march into chapel, in all of which 
—on the authority of a distinguished mili- 
tary witness — the boys compare very advan- 
tageously with the Regular Army, 

After the last salute has been given, 
and the martial tramp of hundreds of 
sturdy feet has died away, we follow into 
the pretty little chapel, whose pale olive- 
green walls and columns form an effective 
background to the scarlet glory of the 
11 sons of the brave," 

The chapel service is the one note in 
the whole Institution which jarred upon me 
and struck, me as a little out of tune. To 
begin with, as the congregation practi- 
cally consists of boys, the service might 

lads* As one listened to the lengthy dis- 
course, it was impossible not to think what 
a magnificent opportunity the preacher lost* 
Here, Sunday after Sunday, at the most im- 
pressionable moment of their lives, come five 
hundred boy*— solemn, silent, and reverent, 
and precisely in the mood to be impressed 
and influenced — who, a few years hence, 
will be taking part in that struggle for 
which the strongest and best cannot be too 
well equipped. Rightly conceived, it 
would be almost impossible to over-estimate 
the influence that a religious teacher with 
insight could exercise over the plastic 
characters and futures of these lads, sitting 
so still and attentive, as the light streams 
through the windows upon the solemn 
boyish faces, and casts golden aureoles 
round the fair heads. Whether it was the 
stern eye of the sergeant or fear of being 
deprived of the stripe which entitles them 
to the privilege of going out alone on 
Saturday afternoon, I know T not ; but their 
immovable calm excited not only my 
admiration but my envy, when I found my- 
self less successful in suppressing yawns* 

My interesting visit to the Asylum was 
concluded by a sight of the fire-escape at 
work, a fire having been especially requisi- 
tioned for my benefit, much to the delight 
of the boys, who regarded the whole matter 
as a huge joke, encouraging the lucky ones 
who were chosen 1:0 descend the canvas 
cyltf|^. l Bf^ > lcr^ i ^Hl&^ down head 



first/' On the whole, however, I was not 
particularly impressed with the efficiency 
uf the amateur fire- 
men, though there 
was no denying 
their zeal. 

Lastly, but not 
the least pleasant 

sigh t ? is the 
in o n t h 1 y r e d- 
lctter day, when 
the boys 
their friends, and 
pleased and proud 
mothers stride 
about the grounds with 
little fellows' arms stowed 
away in theirs, Whilst 
tongues — generally re- 
countiag the owners' 
heroic deeds in athletics 
— wag fast and furious. 
The mothers and friends 
are very rightly thankful 
for their good fortune, and 
indeed, if companionship, habits of order , 
decency, and industry, and healthy surround- 
ings mean anything good, then the little 
lads of the Duke of York's School are to be 

What is being done for our future army 
at Chelsea is also being carried out for the 
navy on a smaller scale aboard the training- 
ship War spite ^ with, however, one essential 
difference. At the State -supported institu- 
tion in Chelsea there is no lack of fund?, 
whilst the War spite y which relies entirely 
OH voluntary subscriptions, is, in common 
with so many other philanthropic under- 
taking-, suffering from the loss of subscrip- 
tions and donations, which during the last 
year have been diverted in favour of 

untried and doubtful experiments. The 
training-ship lying some way off Woolwich 

Pier is a big 
which in former 
days, as the Cou- 
(/ueror r saw a 
good deal of active 
service. As soon 
as we were sighted 
;i boat manned by 
a crew of twelve 
little tars put oft" 
to fetch us, and as 
they approached 
the landing stage, 
giving us a proper 
naval salute, we 
had an oppor- 
tunity of admir- 
ing the smart and 
steady way with 
which they pulled 
together, and on 
reaching along- 
side the training- 
ship, "tossed 5 ' 
and li laid down 1 ' 
oars. All the 
decks, as bright 
and neat as pos- 
sible, were full of 
small, barefooted 
blue-jackets in- 
tent upon their 
different naval 
duties; and, 
watching their ex- 
pertness at knot- 
ting, splicing, 
going aloft, &c, it 
was almost imp os - 
not one of the boys 
than nine months 1 

lilt " WAKSriTt. 


sible to believe 

had undergone more 

training. This is T however* the case. 

The boys, all of whom, though of good 
character, are destitute, are only admitted 
between the ages of 13 and 16, and are 
only kept on the War spite for nine months, 
after which they are drafted into the navy 
or the merchant service. 

On the day of my visit a batch of boys, 
many of whom had been taken from the 
streets, were having their first meal. They 
had all been washed, combed, and put 
into their new togs, which they wore with 
a mingled air of pride and embarrassment. 
About map v. of thept there was a noticeably 
hungry e^BiftmJfflfflh made one rejoice 




to think that for some months, at any rate, 
they would have good and regular meals. 
In connection with the subject of diet, which 
consists of beef or mutton and potatoes for 

dinner, cocoa, 
bread, and pork 
for breakfast, and 
tea and biscuits for 
the third meal, I 
asked one jolly, 
rosy- cheeked little 
tar whether he 
was satisfied with 
his victuals. He 
answered with the 
most tremendous 
gravity, as i( how" 
there was u just 
one thing' 1 which 
he mubt u com- 
plain about. ?t 

■* What's that ?" 
I asked, " don't 
you get enough ? " 
41 Yes, quite 
enough," was the 
tragic reply, u but 
the boys ought to 
have dripping on 
their biscuit twice 
a stWifrj and we 
don't always get 
it once ! " 

Poor little 
chaps, one can 
well understand that after a time ship's 
biscuits, which may be very wholesome, 
though somewhat lacking in flavour and 
succulency, are likely to pall, and be much 
more grateful to a boy's palate when ac- 
companied by the more insidious dripping* 
The organisation, as regards internal 
management, school, and manual work, 
seems to be on much the same lines as that 





which prevails at the Military Asylum : 
half the day being devoted to school, 
whilst the remainder is occupied with 
swimming — which is the first accomplish- 
ment taught every boy — managing small 
boats, and the practical part of seamanship 
generally. In school, too, the boys give 
special attention to the subjects which will 
be afterwards useful to them, notably to 
the mastery of the compass, which involves 
three months* study, and appears painfully 
complex to the uninitiated landsman. 

During the afternoon the entire ship is 
a scene of the greatest interest and 
activity. Here, for instance, on the 
main deck is a long row of boys with 
red stripes on the right arm signify- 
ing they belong to the starboard 
half of the ship's company, who are 
having bending and hitching in- 
struction, or knot- 
making. In front of 
them are long poles and 
great lengths of rope, 
with which they will 
make you the most 
wonderful knots in the 
deftest manner imagin- 
able. Although a little 
boy did some of the 
operations with con- 
descending slowness {his 
verbal instructions con- 
sisted of "see T ere n at 
intervals, which somewhat 
prehenstveness of detail), I 
quite unable to grasp the 
"dove hitch/' " turk's head," "bowline," 
"running bowline," "swab hitch/' and a 
variety of other ingenious knots with 
curious-sounding names. I was glad to 
cover my stupidity by a retreat to the 
upper deck, where dumb-bell drill was 
going on, the boys being arranged in two 
long lines, The dumb-bell exercises, which, 
as is well known, have a marked effect on 
the development of the muscles, are per- 
formed with beautiful precision to quick , 
bright music played by the band ; and, 
bringing out all the curves and lines of the 
lads' little bodies, are very effective and 
graceful. After this, M man the yards " was 
piped, whereupon a swarm of boys with the 
agility of monkeys climbed the rigging, 
and went through a variety of nautical 
operations with remarkable neatness and 
skill. Then I paid a visit to the big hold 
of the ship, where I found a smart little 
captain of the hold> whose business it is to 

keep clean and bright the tanks and 
machinery, and who is the recipient of bd, 
a week for his energetic efforts* Then I 
went along to the store-room, where all 
the linen is kept, and here the youthful 
store superintendent told me that on ad- 
mission each boy gets an extensive outfit, 


lacked com 
found myself 


including, in addition to two suits and a 
number of other necessaries, a pair of mit- 
tens, a blue comforter, and an extra jacket, 
pair of trousers, south-wester, and knife 
when he goes to sea. 

An exciting incident terminated our visit 
in the shape of a fire, which was conducted 
in so realistic a manner, and with such 
deadly earnestness on the part of the 
nautical firemen, that for a moment we felt 
positively terrified, and began to cast about 
our chances of getting off. As we stood 
on the lower deck a bell was rung, at the 
sound of which the entire crew assembled 
round us, The captain in half a dozen 
incisive words then stated that the fire 
was in the "galley." No directions were 
given ; each lad knew exactly how to act, 
and carried out his special duty, which he 
had been told off for and practised from 
the moment he set foot on the ship, with a 
coolness and promptness which were ample 




evidence of their magnificent training* We 
followed to the li galley ? ' above, and found 
(barely a couple of minutes had elapsed) 
that six fire hoses were already at work, 
every pump was in action, and the 
imaginary flames, which were supposed to 
have originated from some cinders falling 

Warspitc and the British Navy. In the 
swiftly vanishing sunset, of which there 
was still enough of orange and crimson 
to throw great patches of bright colour 
on the wood -bearing barges and the huge 
black towers lining each side of the river, 
our little crew brought us back safely to 
shore, our part being concluded with a 
modest wherewithal for tarts, and such 
simple words of kindliness as occurred to 



a£0| ■ 


out of the stove, well under control. From 
beginning to end there was not the smallest 
mistake or confusion or uncertainty, and if 
in the hour of real peril these gallant minia- 
ture sailors keep as cool and disciplined, 
they will be a credit and honour to the 

us. Will not all the readers of The 
Strand Magazine echo our wish — that 
these brave little bluejackets may make 
prosperous voyages, and get safely into 
sunny harbours where kind eyes and heart* 
are waiting to welcome th^rn. 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives, 

Bork 1833 

lbS^:/A 1 CALDKRON was born at 
ftPXw Sj P^i tiers, his father 

roi tiers, ms latner being the 
^Jj Re% F t Juan Calderon, and re- 
ceived his artistic education 
chiefly in the atelier of JVL Picol, at Paris, 
where he was a student at the age at which 


. 1 


£ .£*r^i 

J5L tiHfcfetfiJ 

i\ 1. .«a 'i 

AGE l6. * Llhipuerreotifpc 

he is represented in the first portrait of this 

At the age of twenty he began to exhibit 
at the Royal Academy, his first picture 
being By Babylon's Waters. At thirty- 
one — which is the age at which the second 
of our portraits represents him— he was 
elected A.R. A,, his promotion to the honour 
of R.A. following only three years later, 
in 1867, in which year he received at the 
Paris International Exhibition the first 
medal awarded to any English painter. 

In 187S he was one of the English 
artists selected to exhibit an extra number 
of works at the Paris Exhibition of that 
year, and at the close of the Exhibition 
received again a first -class medal and was 
created a Knight of the Legion of Honour, 

". ■ ■'■ 


4 v 

Ftvm * Photo, bf Ifaftvw.j aub 31. lFarliammt-*Ut*t t IV. 

Since that time he has always been fully 
represented at the annual exhibition of 
the Royal Academy, his works cover- 


J-. .■ '."K-- 

Bumfl fcs& 


Frvm a Photo, b$] 

AGE 5& 

[Window £ Unm 

ing almost every department of painting, 
whether portrait, realistic, historical, or 




From a] 



TER, R.A. 
Born 1836* 

jjj was born at 
^ Paris, his 
father being 
Mr. Ambrose Poynter, 
the architect. He was 
educated at Westminster 
School and at Ipswich 
Grammar School ; he 
studied art in the Royal 
Academy schools until 
he was 20, and afterwards 
for three years under 
G ley re at Paris. He 
then settled in London, and 
his first Academy picture, 
ever, in 1867 that he made 

ACE 52* 

From Portrait* by himttlf in th* Uflrti Gallery 

at 26 exhibited 

It was t how- 

his reputation 

/■'rum a Phoi& Tjjy U** I.ttwtm School 
of nm s gnfikg. 

by his picture u Israel in 
Egypt. Two years later 
he was elected A.R.A. ; 
in 1S76 he was made 
R.A. From 187 1 to 1876 
he was Slade Professor 
of Art at University 
College, He published 
in 1870 his well known 
volume entitled li Ten 
Lectures on Art.'' Most 
of his finest pictures arc 
based on classical sub- 
jects, such as 4t Atalaiiia's 
Race n and u A Visit to 
i^sculapius ; " the latter 
of which t purchased out of the Chantrey 
fund t is one of the most successful classical 
pictures of the present day. 

AOK Li). 

i'ium a braving bp hiii 





/riii'ri *J, 

AGE 10. 

[ l.*atf ucrreQtjtpc, 


Born 1829. 


born at Philadelphia, where his 
father was a merchant, and was 
educated at the University of 
Pennsylvania, where he took his 
degree at eighteen, at which age our first 

portrait represents him. He was intended 
for the legal profession, but, desiring to be- 
come an actor, he came to England, and 
made his first appearance in 1850 at the 
Theatre Royal, York, His advancement 
\v T as so rapid that a year later he was playing 

from a Photo. &jr] 

ACE 50. 

[EWottf Fr V . 

leading parts in the provinces, and again a 
year later made his appearance on a London 
stage, under Charles Kean at the Princess's. 
Since that time his triumphs on the stage 
have been innumerable, the most conspicu- 
ous being, perhaps, Ja mes Harebell in the 
" Man o* Airlie,' 1 Percy Pendragon in 

JVom a Photo, hy] 


from 1 

AGE a*. 


;| Married in Haste," Macbeth } lago^ Dan I 
Druce, and Dr« Primrose. Asa declaimer 
of English he has no superior, and his 
acting alwavs ippeate to the most cultured 
porti^^.^ i|ff ^^ H|GAN 



t- VxWI a Pha J a h bf] 

AGE 37* 

[ J/ora , -V'etc fflffe 


AfiF 35* [llerit®maKO,&r. /'eferriurv* 

HIS celebrated bass singer first 
made his appearance in Italy in 
1 865 , and, owing to his great 
success j was engaged by M. Bagier 
for the Italian Opera in Paris, 
and subsequently came to London. He 
was then engaged by Mr, Mapleson at Her 
Majesty's Theatre, after which he appeared 
at the Royal Italian Opera House, Covent- 
garden, being cast for all the leading bass 

parts in "Robert the Devil/' "The Hugue- 
nots," "William Tell," and Verdi's «AWa." 
He also accompanied Adelina Patti on her 
tour through Russia in the early part of 
1870, when both these eminent performers 
were received with a most enthusiastic 
welcome, In the Handel Festival at the 
Crystal Palace, and at Birmingham and 
other provincial festivals, he has appeared 
with great success, In fact , since 1866 he 
has constantly been before the British public, 

/Vam a Photo. bt/\ AGE +3^ [C*<i«« , Wol p t OtdJin. 

with whom his fine voice and splendid style 
of declamation have rendered him a special 
favourite. Signor Foli has, indeed, with the 
exception, perhaps, of Edouard de Reszkd, 
the finest bass voice of modern times. 



[ ran der Vtyde, 



Frvm a Ptoto, &jr SfutuM * Jacob, WuMftadta, 


daughter of Mr, Alexander R 4 
Neilson, of Scotland, and was 
educated at Wiesbaden, 
early displayed a striking 
and, having carried off 

i*f*™» Q J J AtJ % bjt] AfiK T^» 

, It l, f y. 




Llewellyn Thomas medal , the Sainton 
Dolby prize, the Westmoreland scholarship, 
and other honours at the London Academy 
of Music, it was natural that she should 
have been at first intended to follow music 
as a profession. She displayed, however, 
so much promise as an actress on the 
amateur dramatic stage that in 1888, when 
at the age of nineteen, she made her ap- 
pearance in " Pygmalion and Galatea," at 
the Lyceum. Thence she w^nt to the St. 
James's, and finally to the Haymarket, 
where she has remained ever since. 

Pram ^M^W.'A TjfcflfciUtW KjAM/fcitfto, x*m* 



QC +I is the second son of the Rev. William 
Vernon Harcourt and grandson of the late 
Archbishop of York, He was educated at 
Trinity, Cambridge, where he took high 
honours at the age of £4. He was called 
to the bar three years later, and wrote his 
well-known letters to The Times over the 
signature u Historicus," He was made Q.C. 
at 39. Two years later he was elected as 
Liberal member for Oxford. In 1873 he was 
appointed Solicitor-General and knighted. 
In 1886 he was made Chancellor of the 
Exchequer by Mr, Gladstone, of whose 
policy he is well known as one of the most 
powerful advocates. 

iginaltfi* to 

11 There s Many a Slip." 

By Annie L, Coghill. 

UST draw your chair round 
a little ; I know there's a 
draught on that side, I did 
intend at one time to have it 
cured in some way, but it 
does not much matter now. 

I'll have a screen put round your corner 

to-morrow. Mine is comfortable enough.' 1 
This was said to me one winter evening 

by my cousin John Elder, as we sat on 

each side of the fire in his particularly cosy 

dining-room, where the table, with its lamp, 

flowers, and des- 
sert, had been 

drawn up to an 

easy distance 

from our hands, 

John was sipping 

port, and I was 

cracking nuts, for 

which, in spite 

of my years, I 

have an abiding 

affection ; and 

behind my chair 

was the door 

from which 

might, but did 

not, come the 

draught John 

was speaking of. 
John is an 

elderly gentle- 
man, a bachelor, 

very well off, 

very comfort- 
able, and very 

popular, but still 

rather mysteri- 
ously a bachelor, 

because he has 

always liked and 

been liked by 

women, I am 

an elderly lady, 

i\ widow, and 

John and I have 

been warm 

friends all our 

lives. The reason why I was sitting beside 

John's dining-room fire was that I had 

come to pay him a visit, and, as there were 

no other guests in the house, it was much 
more sensible for me to stay and talk 
with him while he enjoyed his after-dinner 
ease than to go away by myself into the 

"There is no draught," I said, M none at 
present, I am sure. But there may be 
when the wind is north, and a screen would 
make all safe." 

" Yes," he answered musingly, as he 
looked at the wine he had just poured out, 
" a screen would do, but 1 did think once 


of altering the door, making really a good 
job of it. I planned that with other 



» * 

II And the plans were never carried out ? " 
I asked, after I had waited a moment to 
see if he would say more, ** Well, I sup- 
pose I know wheo they were made, but I 
never did quite understand why they came 
to nothing," 

14 No, n he answered* " I don't think any- 
body knew but ourselves. It was my fault 
— certainly, it was all my fault." 

He stopped, but I thought he was not 
disinclined to go on, and I was curious* 
Indeed, there had been an episode in John's 
life about which we had all been curious ; 
and, though it was a good while past s I 
still felt I should like to know. So I said, 

41 1 fancied it had been Miss Woodroffe s 
doing ? !t 

14 1 said it was my fault" he answered. 
11 1 did not say it was my doing." 

tt Okl w I answered rather blankly, and 
there was a silence. 

Then John gave a little laugh, half ridi- 
cule of himself , I thought, and half rueful- 
ness for the story that w T as in his mind. 

II I may as well tell you all about it/ 1 he 
said. M You are not likely to tell it to any 
of the young ones, and it certainly was an 
odd way of losing one's 
promised wife. You'll 
see that she was not to 

I saw now that I was 
in for the story, what- 
ever it might be, 
catastrophe of whi 
had left John a bachelor 
so I settled myself 
my chair, put my 
more comfortably 
my footstool, and 
down the nut- 

"Well," he 
said, M I daresay 
you remember 
that I have al- 
ways been much 
fonder of seeing 
my friends in my 
own house than 
of going else- 
where for society. 
I don't suppose 
I've dined out 
ten times in the 
last ten years ; 
and ten years ago 
I disliked doing 
it almost as much 

as I do now. Only I wasn't quite such an 
old fogey, and I believe I had some vague 
idea of marrying. The difficulty was that 
I had never seen exactly the right woman, 
and very naturally I wasn't nearly so keen 
about finding her as I had been twenty 
years before that. It is just ten years now 
since I met Miss Woodroffc." 

u Yes/' I said, "I remember it is about 
ten years since I heard of her.' 1 

u The only house where I ever cared to 
dine in those days was Joddrelfs, and I 
used to go there about once for every four 
times they asked me. One evening in 
September I went there much against my 
will. Joddrell had promised me that I 
should meet some old friends, but when I 
arrived there was not one present but 
strangers, and nearly all the party were 
young people. Fancy asking me to meet a 
roomful of young people ! It wasn't until 
dinner was announced that I saw the lady 
I was to take in ; then Joddrell led me into 
a corner of the drawing-room, and intro- 
duced me to Miss Woodroffe, a friend of 
his wife's/ 1 

John stopped a little here, and I fancied 






he was trying to find words in which to 
describe Miss Woodroffe. If that were so, 
he did not succeed. After a minute he 
went on again, without attempting to give 
me any portraiture of the heroine of his 

44 Upon my word, Mary, I can't tell how 
it happened. All I know is that she was 
the most charming woman I ever saw in 
my life. We talked a great deal during 
dinner, and we talked a great deal after 
dinner ; and the more she talked, and the 
more I looked at her, the more I thought 
with disgust of my solitary existence. Some- 
how or other, before I got up next morning 
I had made up my mind that I would 
try to persuade her to become my wife. 
All this, of course, is very commonplace ; 
plenty of men, I suppose, even some men 
of fifty-five, must have had the same sort 
of experience. • Now comes the part of the 
story which I think must belong to me 
alone. Do you remember how, years ago, 
I persuaded you to let me send some of your 
handwriting to a lady who professed to 
know all about the people whose writing 
she was allowed to examine ? I sent yours 
and some others ; do you remember ? " 

44 Yes," I answered, " I remember very 
well ; and we thought the characters sent 
back were wonderfully true." 

44 We did," said John emphatically,** and 
that was the mischief of it. Some time 
after that I had a housekeeper whom I sus- 
pected of cheating me, and I sent a note 
of hers to Miss Harris by way of clearing 
up my opinion of her. Miss Harris wrote 
back that she was civil and plausible, but 
not to be trusted ; and sure enough after a 
time I detected her in downright robbery. 
Upon my word, Mary, if I did believe in 
Miss Harris, I had good reason, and I'm 
not so very sure yet that she doesn't deserve 
to be believed in. Well, now, what do you 
think I did,? I determined to get a note 
from Miss Woodroffe, and send it to Miss 
Harris, before I took another step in the 
affair. Miss Woodroffe, as it happened, was 
to stay at the Joddrells' for two or three 
weeks ; and before a week was over I had 
managed to get a note of two or three lines 
from her. This I sent to Miss Harris, and 
lean show you the answer I received." 

Here John took from his pocket a letter- 
case, or pocket-book, from which, after some 
turning over of the papers it contained, he 
drew out a much-worn letter, and handed 
it to me. It began : il The handwriting 
of the note, of which you have requested 

my opinion, is a very remarkable one ; it 
expresses in the strongest degree the 
qualities of a noble and refined character. 
The writer has a clear brain, an affectionate 
heart, and great rectitude of mind ; she 
talks 'well, and neither too much nor too 
little." There was a good deal more in the 
same style, describing such a paragon of our 
sex that I really felt an inch or two taller 
for the reading of it. 

44 If Miss Woodroffe was all that," I said, 
14 1 can't imagine how you ever let her go." 

44 She was," he answered ; ' 4 at any rate, I 
have no reason to doubt it." 

He put the paper back in its place, and 
went on : — 

44 1 think I may say that I lost no time 
after that. She was friendly from the 
beginning. About four weeks after our 
first meeting I asked her to marry me, and 
she said 4 Yes.' Upon my word, Mary, if 
I had been twenty-five instead of fifty-five, 
I don't think I could have been happier. 
She was just going away from the Jod- 
drells', and before she went I told her all 
about Miss Harris, and what a thorough 
belief I had in her skill. Miss Woodroffe 
laughed at me, but unfortunately I was 
quite convinced that my belief was well 
founded, and quite determined to persuade 
her to think so too. 

44 She went away, and of course I wrote 
to her. In one of my first letters I sent her 
the one I have just shown you, and I begged 
her to send my handwriting also to Miss 
Harris for her own satisfaction. You see I 
felt quite safe in doing this, because the 
description of me which had been sent at 
the time, you remember, had been rather 
flattering. On that occasion Miss Harris 
had declared that I 4 was of an amiable 
temper, liberal but trustworthy.' I re- 
member the words well, and I thought it 
could do me nothing but good if such an 
account of me found its way to Miss Wood- 

44 What fools people are ! The woman 
was a rank impostor, of course, as I found 
afterwards to my cost, and as I ought to 
have known then, but I did really believe 
in her. Could you have guessed it ? " 

44 Well, no," I answered, 44 1 really don't 
think I should have believed it — only you 
know, John, you shrewd men can be so 
dreadfully credulous. Why, I remember 
a friend of my husband's who doubted 
everything, and yet he believed in Madame 
Blavatsky.";) r jgj na | f ror q 

John grunted. He did not seem to like 




the comparison, which was foolish of him, 
poor fellow. 

"She said," he went oo t " that she could 
trust her own judgment, and did not want 
anybody else's. That might havn satisfied 
anybody, but it did not satisfy me, I wrote 
again, and begged her to do as I wished, 
telling her about the housekeeper. At last 
she wrote that she had done to please me 
what she never would have done for her- 
self, and she said : ' I suppose you expect 
me to abide by whatever Miss Harris may 

" Do you know that those words gave me 
a fright. I had never doubted till then 
that Miss Harris would give just the same 
character of me as she had done before, 
and also I had only thought of it a* giving 
me more value to Miss Woodroffe. I got 

nervous after I heard she had really eon- 
suited the Sibyl, and two days later I 
received these-'* 

He turned over his pocket-book again and 
handed to me two papers, sinking back in 
his chair after he had done so with a gesture 
that said, '* You have the catastrophe and 
its results before you/' 

I opened one of the papers, and literally 
I opened it with trembling fingers. There 
was something tragical in poor John's ges- 
ture, and in the emptiness and silence of 
the house. My eyes fell upon a sheet of 
paper, half covered with a neat, legible 
hand writing, the words of which were much 
as follows : — 

"This writing belongs to a person of 
singularly impulsive and eager tempera* 

™wMtomwmm*MP* feeling of 

1 64 


the moment ; very uncertain and unre- 
liable, sadly inconsistent, without fixed 
purpose or deliberate judgment ; not want- 
ing in ability, but only in the power to 
apply it usefully ; careless of money, but 
scarcely to be called generous ; not alto- 
gether free from vanity, his temper is very 
irritable and passionate. . *" 

There was more, but a sigh from John- 
poor John ! the most faithful and generous 
of friends, and the most steady-going of 
mortals— made me drop the sheet and take 
up the other. 

This was a very short 
note : — 

u Dkar Mr. Eldkk, — 
You insisted that I should 
consult Miss Harris, and 
trust her verdict on your 
character rather than my 

own. What that is you will see by the 
enclosed, and I am sure you cannot wonder 
that I dare not marry the man described, 
I am sending back your presents and letters 
by next post. With most sincere wishes 
for your happiness, 

" Yours truly, 

i( Louisa Woodroffk." 

"Oh, John ! M I said, when I had read 
this, u but she could not have meant it." 

M She meant it so thoroughly that when 
I got to her mother's house in London, the 
very evening of the day I received it, they 
were both gone abroad, 
and I have not so much 
as seen her from that 
time to this. 1 ' 

So that was why the 
dining-room door was 
never altered, 


by Google 

Original from 

" — / 

BEAR is an adaptable creature, a 
philosopher every inch* He takes 
every thing just as it comes — and 
doesn't readily part with it. He 
lives in all sorts of countries, in 
all manner of weather and 
climate, merely chang- 
ing his coat a little to 
suit the prevailing 
weather. He will 
ea t h on ey — whe 1 1 
he can get it ; when 
he can't he consoles 
himself with the re^ 
flection that it is bad 
for the teeth. He is 
largely a vegetarian, 
except when meat 
falls in his way, 
and although inno- 
cently fond of buns, 
will cheerfully put 
up with strawberries 
and cream if they 
stray in his direc- 
tion. There is a pro- 
verb inculcating the 
principle of catch- 
ing the bear before 
you sell his skin. 
This, from a business point of view, is obviously 
absurd- If you can find somebody idiot enough to 
buy the skin first, and pay cash, why, take it, and 
let him do the catching. It will save a deal of 
trouble, and you will probably hzv; a chance of selling 
the same skm^gappj^^ funeral. 



The bear is indeed a very respectable beast, as beasts 
go. And he certainly is respected in some quarters. Both 

the North American Indians 
and the Lapps reverence him 
too much even to mention his 
name in conversation ; with them 
he is "the old man in the fur 
cloak'' or "the destroyer." Indeed, 
it seems reasonable to feel a certain 
respect for an animal which can knock 
the top of your head off with a blow 
of his paw ; but both the Indians 
and the Lapps carry their resp - 
a little too far. To kill a bear 
and then humbly apologise to 
the dead body, as they do, is 
adding insult to injury, es- 
pecially if you dine off the 
injured party immediately 
afterward. Neither is it 
likely to propitiate Bruin if 
a dozen men, while prodding 
him vigorously with a dozen 
spears, express their regret 
for the damage 
they are doing, 
and hope that 
he'll pardon the 
liberty. All this 
they do in sober 
earnest, and even 
go so far as to 
prefer a polite 
request that 
he won't hurt 
them. If he ever accede 
to this, it is probably 
because he is confused by 
the contemplation of such 

colossal u cheek/ 1 All this 
is galling enough, though 
otherwise intended, but con- 
tumely reaches its climax when dinner comes on. 
It would be annoying enough to the shade of the 
departed gentleman in fur to hear that he made a 
capital joint, or the reverse ; still, it is what might 
be expected. But this sort of thing they stu- 
diously refrain from saying. They talk with 
enthusiasm of the poor bear's high moral qualities 
— often inventing them for the occasion, it is to 
be feared — and, presumably talking at his ghost, tell each 
that it was most considerate and indulgent of him to let th 
him so easily. Now this is worse than laying on insult 
trowel ; it is piling it on with a shovel, and rubbing it -i 
a brick 

Contact with man ruins the respectability of t h e'-tt'^rE^^tf ^ ^^{sM^iNl and raffish, 



k • 

and appears in the dock at police-courts. He 
associates with low companions — unclean-look- 
ing foreigners — who bang him sorely about the 
ribs with sticks to make him dance. 
They keep him badly, and he grows 
bony and mangy. He retaliates upon 
them by getting loose, frightening 
people, and breaking things. Then, 
when he is brought before a magistrate, 
they have to pay his fine, Some- 
times they get into prison over 
him. The end is always the 
same — a bear who begins by 
1 ^ociating with these people 
always turns up at the 
police - court before long, 
and once there, he comes 
again and again — just in 
the manner of the old 
offenders at Marlborough- 


street* Even in the innocent old times, 
when Bidpai wrote (or plagiarised) his 
fables, association with man made a fool 
of a bean Witness the fable of the 
gardener's bear, who, zealous about a fly 
on his master's face, brought a paw 
upon it with all his force t and knocked 
off an indispensable piece of rhe worthy 
gardener's head There is 
nothing whatever recorded 
against that gardener's char- 
acter ; he probably lived a 
most exemplary life, and won prizes 
at all the prehistoric horticultural 
shows in India — although it might 
not be strictly correct for 
an American to say there ]|r 

were no flies on him. ^i- .v ";(( 
But his society 
made a great ass 


There was 
once a belief that 
bears licked their cubs into 
shape. If there .be 
anything in this, all 
the bears in my acquaintance came of very 
negligent mothers— o*\ perhaps, of mothers 
who tried the other sort of licking. They 
have strength, sagacity, stuf lity, gloom, 
cheerfulness, teeth, hair, cUws/ position, 
magnitude, and big feet ; but nothing at 
all like shape. This is why they arc able 
to indulge in such a rich variety of atti- 


gffljjfl 1 



1 68 




tudes of rest. With so convenient a 
want of shape j a bear may be put 
upon the ground as you please, and 
so he will lie, without rolling. A 
bear rests or sleeps just as he falls, 
as you shall see on any warm day 
here at the Zoo. Usually, however, 
he makes an attempt to spread his 
feet against something. What this 
is it doesn't matter, so long as he 
may reach it with the" flat of his 
foot ; he is neveT perfectly safe, 
he feels, unless there is a firm 
foundation for that very large 
area of sole \ considerations 
of natural gravity he 
doesn*t stop to think 
about, He has a 
deal of confidence in 
the supporting capa- 
bilities of those feet ; 
and, if the table of 
square measure means 
anything, he is actively 
justified. So he lies on 
his back, and plants his 
feet against the side of his den ; 

or on his side, and plants 
them against the bars. Ir 
there be two, they plant their 
feet against each other, and, in 

' --1% 





- pr—r:" 

by LiOOglC 


_- J 






the sweet communion of sole, fall asleep ; 
if there be only one, he curls up, and 
opposes his palms to his soles, and falls 
asleep so. Bango, the hairy-eared bear in 
4 the end cage, does this, A man 

.,- who once said it was his sole 
attitude was driven to seek refuge 
from an infuriated populace in the 
seal pond. Notwithstanding this, 
and all that has been said about 
brute instinct in animals, nobody 
can gaze at, for instance, Michael, 
the big brown bear, without 
seeing at once that his sole is 
quite big enough for his body, 
big as that is. While the 
family motto of Samson, the 
big Polar bear, is understood 
to be, " O my prophetic sole, 
mine ankle!" This, how- 
ever, is another story, and 
relates to Samson's slight 
lameness in a hind foot. 

Samson is a fine fellow in 
the matter of size. The only 
short thing about him is hts 
tail, unless you count his 
temper. And there really is some excuse for the short temper. The 
climate would be a sufficient excuse in itself. It 
might, perhaps, be reasonable to say that the English / | - ^/ t 

climate is sufficient excuse 
for anybody's shortness of 
temper, but on the PoIaT 
bear it has the effect of 
that of India on an Eng- 
lishman. Both Samson 
and Mrs. Sam- 
son — her name 
is Lil — manage 
fairly well in 
the winter, al- 
though they 
would be the 
more comfort- 
able for an ice- 
berg or two. 
But in the sum- 
mer they keep 
as much as pos- 
sible to the 
coolness of their 
cave, and look dolefully out at 
the visitors with just the ex- 

Sression of a fat Cockney when 
e says, " Ain't it -orrid 'ot ? " 
Still, Samson has had twenty-one 
of these summers now, and is bigger 

and stronger than ever, 
plain that his health does 

it is 

not suffer. 

)riqirral from 



Lil is only a little bigger than was Samson when he 
first arrived, and is playful — Samson isn't* 

Twenty-one years is a good length of healthy 
captivity for a bear, but Bango, the hairy 
eared bear, has been here since 1867 — es- 
tablished a quarter of a century, 
as the shopkeepers say. Bango 
lives with a single eye to his 
own comfort and nourish- 
ment, being blind in the 
other, Still, he can see a 
bun with his one eye just 
as quickly as any other bear 
can with two, Bango has a 
delusion — he is firmly con- 
vinced that by the regula- 
tions he is entitled to nine 
or ten meals a day, in addi- 
tion to promiscuous snacks* 
way of agitating for his rights, he makes a 
dinner gong of the partition between his cage 
and the next, punching it vigorously and up- 
roariously for five minutes together whenever it 
strike- him that a meal is due. 


A sad, bad cha- 
1 racter in bears lives 
) a few doors further f 
* down. It is Billy, C 
the sloth-bear, He 
is the most disreputable, 
careless, lazy, and unkempt 
bear on the premises. Per- 
haps his parents neglected 
him. Certainly if one bear 
can have less shape than another, 
which has none, Billy has. He 
is more than shapeless ; he ap- 
proaches the nebulous* A sort of vast t 
indefinite, black mop, with certain very 
long and ill-kept claws observable in 
odd places, and now and again a disso- 
lute, confused muzzle, in which a double 
allowance of lip and a half-allowance 
of lip mingle indistinguishably. Billy 
' is usually asleep. He is as fond of 
eating as any other bear, but fonder 
still of sleeping. Give him a bis- 
cuit while he is lying down, and 
he will come for it with an indig- 
nant expression of muzzle, imply- 
ing that you are rather a nuisance 
than otherwise. 

■bHte),4?# ^ /he Proverb, 




against the wall to bark, Billy must have been Ludlam's bear, Round at the other 
side, Joey, Fanny, and Dolly, the little Malayan bears, are certainly not lazy. Dolly will 
turn a somersault for you with his head (yes, I mean his) in the sawdust , bringing himself 

over by gripping the bars with his feet. Fanny will do the 
same thing high up against the bars, climbing a somersault, 
so to speak. Of course, there is no regular charge for this 
performance, but neither Fanny nor Dolly will feel dis- 
appointed if you contribute a biscuit to the prize fund, 
Fanny will find the biscuit with her paw, even if it be 
put out of sight on the ledge before the partition. 

But Michael — big Michael, the great brown Russian 

bear, the largest bear in the place except Samson— doesn't 

need to trouble to hunt for biscuits. He 

just opens his mouth, and you throw 

your contribution in* Now, with most 

of the bears this is something of a feat 

of skill, since you may easily pitch a 

little wide, and fail to score a bull's-eye. 

But when Michael's mouth opens— let 

us call him the Grand Duke 

Michael, by the bye — when 

the Grand Duke's mouth 

opens you can't very easily 

miss it. Go and look at the 

Grand Duke's mouth and 


One chiefly respects Kate, 
the Syrian bear, as a relative 
of those other Syrian bears 
that ate the forty-two 
rude boys who annoyed 
Klisha. I have some- 
times wondered 
whether these bears, 
hearing mention of 
a bald head, had 
aroused in them 
any personal feeling 
in regard to bear's- 
grease. But, on con- 
sideration, I scarcely 
think this likely, because bear's- 
grease for the hair is 
always made from 
pig- The pretty 
young Hima- 
layan here can 
mjciiarl. dance if she will, 

having been taught 
by the bearward, Godfrey. But she will only dance when she \ 
feels ii so dispoged," and never if asked, which is ungrateful to 1 
Godfrey, who has taken pains with her education, and who 
managed bears long before her grandmother w r as born. & 

Menush and Nelly belong to a good family — the American 
blacks — but have been in trade, in the pit, until quite lately. 
Having acquired a considerable competence in buns, however, 
they have now retired into semi -privacy. They grew so exces- 
sively fat, indeed, upon the public bounty, that it became a matter of great difficulty to 
induce either to climb the pole— and almost as dLfficult.^^i^jQt^iihpr. -t p Q. .do it- Now 






they live in ease — although, 
looking at them and remem- 
bering that they are sporting 
characters, one might suppose 
them to be thinking 
of taking a quiet pub- 
lichouse for the rest of 
their days. 

Punch and Judy 
have succeeded to the 
pit business. A few 
days after they 
took possession, 
two other bears 
were turned in 
w i t h them, 
nameless, but 
these obviously 
be called Toby and the 
Policeman. When Punch and Judy, 
young bears and new to the place, first 
found themselves in the unaccustomed 
area, they looked about them till their 
eyes fell in succession upon the pole, 
the bath, and the floor — circular, and 
plainly meant as a ring. Here was a gymnasium, ready fitted \ wherefore 
they promptly began a grand inaugural assault -a t-arms, lasting most of the 
day, There was no distinct separation of the events ; plunging, boxing, 
climbing^ and wrestling were mixed in one long show, frequently approaching 
in character the drama wherefrom Punch and Judy derive n 
their names, with one variation. For Judy is rather larger 
and stronger than Punch, who accordingly became 
chief receiver, and this with the utmost good humour. 
The pair, in the wild delight of comparative freedom 
in novel surroundings, having executed a prelusive 
scramble and ram- 






up and sparred carefully for an opening. Judy 
began proceedings with both mawleys, Punch 
ducking very cleverly and putting in the right 
on the listening-machine. Not to be 
denied, Judy bored in, and using 
right and left scored a de- 
cided lead, when Punch, 
the trickier of the 



two, observing 
his partner's 
back now to be 
turned to the bath, 
ducked in, held and back- 
heeled, both falling a mighty 
plunge, Punch uppermost, thus finish- 
ing round one. Round two consisted chiefly 
in a persevering attempt by Punch to drag 
Judy out of the bath, in order to roll in it himself. 
Round three began by Judy suddenly rising from the 
water and driving Punch violently up against the 
pole, from which awkward position he 
dropped on to four feet and re- 
treated with celerity, sud- 
denly stopping and 

about to deliver 
stinger between 


This round continued an unrecorded 
length of time, and consisted chiefly of wrestling, 
the bottom of the bath in the ^nd being about the driest 
spot in the pit. Rounds four, five, and six consisted of judi- 
cious extracts from rounds one, two, and three, in new 
combinations, and with varying results, the com- 
batants retiring, secundum artem* to their 
proper corners between each round. 
Bangs on the smeller, drives in the 
breadbasket and dexter optiCj 
straight uns on the 
knowkdge-box, rib 
benders and 




ivory- rattlers 
were fully represent- 
and there were fre- 
quent visitations in the atmos- 
pheric department 
As the seventh round was about to begin, 
a visitor protruded a bun, impaled upon the stick 
for the purpose provided T near the pole a little way 
up. Business was immediately suspended, and Judy made 
that bun. With some ^/§^^^gj^^ to the 









pole, and it shook the more the higher she ascended 
— she acquired the little present half way up, and 
descended to where Punch waited to renew the display* 
But Judy was thoughtful, and indisposed for the noble 
art. She had found a new thing in life, something to 

live for and think about— buns. So she thought about them. 

The place where they were to 

be found, she reasoned — for she 

had never noticed the man at 

the opposite end of the long 

stick — was up that pole ; the 

pole being probably a bun- 
tree, So that, whenever dis- 
posed for buns, it only needed 

to climb the pole and find 

some* Having arrived at this 

stage in the argument, it 

seemed to strike her that 

another bun was desirable, 

there and then. Wherefore 

she began another rather nervous 

climb, her eyes fixed steadily 

above to where the buns were 

expected to appear. 

The expedition was a failure, and 

Judy pondered it, with the apparent 

decision that the buns must be a 

little higher up. So she started again, 

and found one ! She has got over 

that little bun-tree superstition by 

this time, and can climb better. Also 

she and the others have ahead \ 

broken up entirely five of the sticks 

upon which buns arrive, thus from 

time to time cutting off the supply. 

And although Toby and the Police- 
man are very useful as seconds at the 

later boxing matches, very few buns 

get past Judy. Punch, the hen- 
pecked and wily, waits good-humour - 

edly at the foot of the pole, and has 

been known to catch many a bun that 

Judy climbed for. 

Through all the bear-dens you 

may see bears in attitudes sufficiently 

hitman to be quaint and grotesque. 

A squat like that of an Indian idol, 

an oddly human looking out of win- 

dowjOr a lounge at the bare, clumsily 

suggestive of a lounge at a bar in 

the Strand ; and of all the attitudes 

those of the gentle little Malay- are 

quaintest, A certain bandy hum 
respectability hangs about these 
small fellows, Dolly , after 
turning his somer- 
sault, will sit and "• - 
i aspect his reward ' 
just asachi]dwi|j N|VE ^ 






examine an apple, judging wheru 
to make the first bite. Dolly's 
great luxury is a cocoaiuit. He will thrust holes through 
the eyes at the end with a daw, and drink the milk before 
proceeding to the kernel. If the eyes are too tough to be 
pierced, he will lose his temper , like a spoiled child ;- and 
smash the nut against the floor ; after which he will rush 
about distracted making wild efforts to drink the milk, 
I think some sort of a moral lesson might be deduced 

from this. If so, the gentle reader is at liberty to 

deduce it T without extra charge. 

by Google 

Original from 

From the Frknch of Saint-Juirs. 

OU are a dead man I v said 
the doctor, looking intently 
at Anatole, 

Anatole staggered. 
He had come gaily to pass 
the evening with his old 
friend, Dr. Bardais, the illustrious savant 
whose works on venomous substances are 
known all over the world, whose nobility 
of heart and almost paternal goodness 
Anatole had learned to know better than 
any other living soul ; and now, without 
the least hesitation or preparation, he heard 
this terrible prognostication issue from 
those authoritative lips ! 

" Unhappy child, what have you done ? " 
continued the doctor, 

11 Nothing that I know of," stammered 
Anatole, greatly agitated, 

"Tax your memory, tell me what you 
have eaten or drunk— what you have 
inhaled ?" 

The last word was a ray of light to Ana- 
tole, That very morning he had received 
a letter from one of his friends who was 
travelling in India ; in the letter was a flower 
plucked on a bank of the Ganges by the 
traveller — a strangely-formed red flower, 
the perfume of which — he now recalled the 
fact vividly — had appeared to him to be 
singularly penetrative. He hastily drew 
forth his pocket-book and produced the 
letter with its contents and handed them to 
the savant 

11 No doubt is possible ! ?t cried the doctor ; 
" it is the Pyramcnensis Indica ! the 
deadly flower, the flower of blood ! n 

" Then,— you— really think ? M 

"Alas! I am sure of it/' 

(i But— it is impossible ! — I am only five- 
and-twenty years of age, and feel full of life 
and health ! v 

" At what hour did you open that fatal 
letter ? n 

"This morning, at nine o'clock," * 

" Well — to-morrow morning, at the same 
hour, at the same minute, in full health, as 
you say, you ml? feci a pain in your heart — 

and ^jpy^-.^pPfF^ICHIGAN 



u And you know of no remedy — no means 
of " 

" None ! " said the doctor. 

And, covering his face wilh his hands, he 
sank into a chair overcome by grief. 

In face of the profound emotion of his 
old friend, Anatole understood that he was 
really condemned. 

He hurried from the doctor's house like 
a madman. His forehead bathed in cold 
perspiration, his ideas all confused, going 
he knew not whither, he sped on and on 
amid the darkness of the night, taking no 
heed of the loneliness of the streets he was 
traversing. For a long time he pursued 
this blind course, until at length, finding a 
bench, he sank down upon it. 

How many hours had he still to live ? 

The persistent and distressing sound of a 
racking cough brought him back to consci- 
ousness ; he looked in the direction whence 
it came and saw, seated upon the same bench, 
a pale and weak little flower-girl — a child 
not more than eight years old, who as 
Francois Coppee says, 

" D : es of the w'nter while offering us the spring.' 

That verse of the poet's recurred to the 
mind oi Anatole ; he felt in his waistcoat- 
pocket and found there two sous and two 
louis. He was going to give the poor child 
the two sous ; but recollecting that he had 
only a few hours longer to live, he gave 
her the two louis. 

This incident did him good. 

He had been like a man stunned by a 
blow on the head ; his bewilderment was 
overcome now, and he began to reassemble 
his dislocated ideas. 

" My situation, 1 ' he said to himself, " is 
that of a man condemned to death. A man 
in that position may still, however, hope for 
pardon — many of that sort are pardoned 
in our days. In past times even, some have 
been saved from the axe or the cord, to 
devote themselves to some difficult or dan- 
gerous piece of work — the launching of a 
ship, for example, or, as in the time of Louis 
XI., to marry an old woman. If I were con- 
sulted in the matter, I should prefer to 
launch -a ship. Unfortunately, I shall not 
be consulted during the short interval of 
time that remains to me. But, by the way, 
how long have I got to live ? " 

He looked at his watch. 

" Thtee o'clock in the morning ! — it is 
time to go to bed. To bed ! — waste in sleep 
my last six hours ! Not if I know it. I 
have certainly something better than that 

to do. But what ? Of course — to make 
my will." 

A restaurant — one of those which keep 
open all night — was not far off. Anatole 
entered it. 

" Gargon, a bottle of champagne — and 
ink and paper." 

He drank a glass of Cliquot and looked 
thoughtfully at the sheet of paper b. fore 

u To whom shall I bequeath my six 
thousand francs a year ? I have neither 
father nor mother — happily for them! 
Amongst the persons who interest me, 
I see only one — Nicette." 

Nicette was a charming girl of eighteen, 
with blonde tresses and large black eyes ; 
an orphan like himself — a community in 
misfortune which had long established 
between them a secret and complete sym- 

His last will and testament was speedily 
drawn up : universal legatee, Nicette. 

That done, he drank a second glass of 

44 Poor Nicette," he mused ; " she was 
very sad when I last saw her. Her guardian, 
who knows nothing of the world outside 
his class of wind instruments at the Con- 
servatoire de Musique, had taken upon 
himself to promise her hand to a brute of an 
amateur of fencing whom she detests — the 
more because she has given her heart to 
somebody else. Who is that happy mor- 
tal?— I haven't the least idea; but he is 
certainly worthy of her, or she would never 
have chosen him. Good, gentle, beautiful, 
loving Nicette deserves the ideal of hus- 
bands. Ah ! she is the very wife that 
would have suited me, if — if — . By Jove, 
it's an infamy, to compel lur to destroy 
her life — by confiding such a treasure to 
such a brute ! I have never before so well 
understood the generous ardour which fired 
the breasts of the wandering knights, and 
spurred them on to the deliverance of 
oppressed beauty ! — And, now I come to 
think of it, what hinders me from becoming 
the knight-errant of Nicette ? My fate is 
settled — at nine o'clock— after that it will 
be too late ; now, therefore, is the time for 
action ! The hour is a little unusual for 
visiting people ; but, when I reflect that, 
five hours hence, I shall be no more, I 
conclude that I have no time for stand- 
ing on etiquette. Forward ! — my life for 
Nicette ! " 

Anatole rose — and then, perceiving that 
he had no money, he gave his gold watch 




to the waiter in payment for the cham- 
pagne — a watch worth five hundred francs. 

The gartjon took the chronometer, and 
examined it closely — weighed it in his hand, 
opened it — and finally put it in his pocket 
doubtfully and without thanking Anatole, 

It was four o'clock in the morning when 

44 What do you say ? " 
44 You must renounce that project." 
I( Never , Monsieur ! — never ! " 
"Don't fly in the face of Providence by 
using such language ! " 

"My resolution is fixed, Monsieur ; this 
marriage will take place/' 
" It will not, Monsieur ! " 
14 We will see about that. And, now that 
you have had my answer, Monsieur, I'll 
not detain you/' 

14 A speech none too polite, Monsieur 
Bouvard ; but, as I am as good-natured as 
I am tenacious, I will pass over it, and — 

44 Stay if it pleases you to do so ; 
but I shall consider you gone, and hold 
no further conversation wilh you," 

Saying which Monsieur Bouvard 
turned his face to the wall, grumbling 
to himself — 

44 Was ever such a thing seen ! — 
rousing a man at such an hour! — 
breaking his sleep, only to pour into 
his ears such a pack of nonsense ! 


he rang at the door of Monsieur Bouvard, the 
guardian of Nicette. He rang once, twice, 
and, at the third tu^, broke the bell- wire. 
At length Monsieur Bouvard himself, in his 
night dress and in great alarm, came and 
opened the door, 

44 What is the matter— is the house on 

" No, my dear Monsieur Bouvard," said 
Anatole, "I have only paid you a little visit." 

"At this hour !" 

" It is pleasant to see you at any hour, 
my dear Monsieur Bouvard ! But you are 
so lightly dressed— pray get into bed again," 

"lam going to do so. But, I suppose, 
Monsieur, that it was not simply to trouble 
me in this way that you have come at such 
an hour ? You have something of import' 
ance to say to me ? " 

" Very important, Monsieur Bouvard ! 
It is to tell you that you must renounce the 
idea of marrying my cousin Nicette to 
Monsieur Capdenac. /— 


Suddenly Monsieur Bouvard sprang 
to a sitting posture in his bed, 

Anatole had possessed himself of the 
professor's trombone, into which he was 
blowing like a deaf man, and sending 
from the tortured instrument sounds of 
indescribable detestableness. 

11 My presentation trombone! — given 
me by my pupils ! Let that instru- 
ment alone, Monsieur ! " 
" Monsieur, you consider me gone ; I 
shall consider you — absent, and shall amuse 
myself until you return, Couac ! couac ! — 
fromn ! brout ! Eh ?— that was a fine 
note ! " 

" You will get me turned out of the 
house; my landlord will not allow a trom- 
bone to be played here after midnight/ 1 

11 A man who evidently hath not music 
in his soul ! Frrout ! frrout, prrr ! TT 

u You will split my ears I — -you'll spoil 
my instrument ! — a trombone badly played 
on is a trombone destroyed, Monsieur ! " 

11 Couac ! pro iinn, pra — pra — prrrr " 

u For mercy's sake give over ! " 

"Will you consent?" 

" To what?" 

"To renounce the idea of that marriage? " 

" Monsieur, I cannot ! " 

"Then — couac ! " 

11 Monsieur Capdenac " 

iS Prrrr oum! -" 

i{ Is a tcrnb 1 '; mjn Jo ileal with ! " 




u Frrroutt 

" If I were to offer him such an affront , 
he would kill me/' 

u Is that the only reason which stops 
you ? " 

"That — and several others." 

11 In that case leave the matter to me ; 
only swear to me that if I obtain Monsieur 
Capdenac's renun- 
ciation, my cousin 
shall be fres to 
choose a husband 
for herself/' 

"Really, Mon- 
sieur, you abuse 

u Couac, frrroutt, 
JTuit.brrrout! " 

Monsieur, — sh e 
shall be free." 

" Bravo! I have 
your word. Will 
you now allow me 
to retire ? By the 
way, where does 
our Capdenac 



"Number 100, 
Rue des Deux- 

"I fly thither!— 
Until we meet 
again ! " 

u You are going 
to throw yourself 
into the lion's 
mouth, and he will 

teach you a lesson "*«■ 

you deserve," said 

Monsieur Bouvard, as Anatole hurried 
from the bedchamber and shut the door 
after him. 

Without a moment's hesitation Anatole 
betook himself to the address of the fire^ 
eating fencer ; it wan just six o'clock when 
he arrived there. He rang the door-bell, 

i( Who is there ? " demanded a rough 
voice behind the door. 

u Open ! — very important communication 
from Monsieur Bouvard/ 1 

The sounds of a night-chain and I he 
turning of a key in a heavy lock were 

" Here is a man who doc* not forget to 
protect himself against un welcome visitors!" 
remarked Anatole to himself. 

The door opened at length. Anatole 
found himself in the presence of a gentle- 

man with a moustache fiercely upturned, 
whose night-dress appeared to be the com- 
plete costume of the fencing school. 

11 You see, always ready ; it's my motto/' 
The walls of the swordsman's ante- 
chamber were completely covered with pan- 
oplies of arms of all descriptions; yatagans, 
poisoned arrows, sabres, rapiers, one and 
/ two-handed swords, 
pistols — a regular 
arsenal — enough to 
terrify any tiinid- 
minded observer. 

"Bah! 11 thought 
Anatole, " what do 
I now risk ! — at 
most two - hours - 
and-a-half I" 

11 Monsieur," said 
CapdenaLj li may I 

be allowed to know 

41 Monsieur/ 1 re- 
plied Anatole t "you 
want to marry 
Mad e mois el le 

14 Yes, Monsieur." 
u Monsieur, you 
will not marry 
her ! " 

" Ah ! thunder ! 
— blood ! who will 
prevent me ? M 

"I shall, Mon- 
sieur ! " 

Capdenac stared 
at Anatole, who 
was not very big, 
but appeared to be 
very decided. 

" Ah !— young man, you are very lucky 
to have found me in one of my placable 
moments. Take advantage of it — save 
yourself while you have time ; otherwise I 
will not answer for your days ! n 
11 Nor I for yours." 

11 A challenge! — to me! — Capdenac!— 
Do you know that I have been a master of 
the art of fencing for ten years ! " 

11 There's nothing of-fencive about me, 
Monsieur ! " 

11 I have fought twenty duels— and had 
the misfortune to kill five of my adversaries, 
besides wounding the fifteen others! Come, 
I have taken pity on your youth ! — once 
more, go away." 

11 I see, byrijzpnfll firopa rations, that you 
arc w[flif|ip^^ my long 



growing desire to confront a man so redoubt- 
able. Let's see ! what shall we fight with? 
Those two double- handed swords standing 
by the fi replace ? Or those two boarding- 
axes ? With cavalry sabres, or would you 
prefer a pair of curved yatagans ? You 
hesitate \ can't you make up your mind ? " 

u I am thinking of your mother and her 
Cuming distress/ 1 

"I haven't a mother to be distressed. 
Would you rather fight with a carbine? — - 
pistol ?— or revolver ? " 

" Young man — don't play with fire- 

i4 Are von afraid ? You are trembling ! " 

" Trembling ! I ? It's with cold/ 1 " 

u Then fight, or at once renounce the 
hand of Nicettc." 

li Renounce the hand of Mademoiselle 
Nicette ! By Joye, I admire your bravery ! 
and brave men are made to understand one 
another. Shall I make a confession to 
you ? " 

u Speak ! " 

14 For some time past I have myself had 
thoughts of breaking off this marriage, but 


I did not know how to do it. I consent, 
therefore, with pleasure to do what you 
wish ; but j at the same time you mast see 
that I cannot appear to give way to threats, 
and you have threatened me," 
H I retract them/ 1 
44 In that case, all is understood," 
u You will give me, in writing, your re- 
nunciation ? " 

" Young man, you have so completely 
won my sympathy that I can refuse you 

Furnished wtth the precious document, 
Anatole flew back to the dwelling-place of 
Monsieur Bouvard; he had a considerable 
distance to walk, and by the time lie reached 
the professor's door it was nearly eight 
o'clock in the morning, 
"Who is there?" 
44 Anatole," 

4b Go home, and go to bed ! " cried the 
professor savagely* 

44 1 have got Capdenac T s renunciation of 
Nice tie's hand I Open the door, or I will 
break it down," 

Monsieur Eouvard admitted him, and 
Anatole placed in his hand the 
momentous paper. That done, he 
rushed to the door of Nkettc's 
room and cried — 

44 Cousin, get up — dress yourself 
quickly and come here ! " 

44 It appears. Monsieur, that I 
am no longer master in my own 
home ! " exclaimed Monsieur Bou- 
vard ; "you go and conic, and 
order as you please ! To make 
you understand that I will have 
nothing more to say to you, I — 
I will go back to my morning 
newspaper, in the reading of 
which you have interrupted me 1" 
A few minutes later, Nicette, 
looking fresh as dawn, arrived in 
the drawing-room. 

14 What is the matter ? " 
44 The matter," said Monsieur 
Bouvard, 44 is that your cousin is 
mad ! » 

"Mad? So be it ! J ' replied 
Anatole. " Last night, my dear 
little cousin, I obtained two 
things : the renunciation of your 
hand by Monsieur Capdenac, and 
the promise of your worthy guar- 
dian to bestow it on the man of 
your choice — the man you love." 
44 Do vou reallv wish me to 



M Eh ? " cried Anatole, his breath nearly 
taken away. 

** Since I love you, cousin ! M 

At that moment Anatole felt his heart 
beat violently. Was it from pleasure at 
the unexpected avowal made by Nicette, or 
was it the agony* the death symptom pre- 
dicted by the doctor ? 

"Unfortunate that I am!" he cried. 
" She loves me — I am within reach of 
happiness, and am to die without attain- 
ing it ! 

Then, taking the hands of Nicette fever- 
ishly within hi$ own, he told her all about 
the letter, the venomous flower he had 
scented, the prognostication of hi* old friend, 
the will he had written, and the steps he 
had successfully 
taken to release 
her from the 
claim of Cap- 

11 And now/' 
he said, in con- 
clusion, *' I have 
only to go home 
and die ! " 

M But it is im- 

possible ! " cried Nicette. " This doctor 
must have mistaken ; who is he ? f1 

"A man who is never in error, Nicette— 
Dr. Bardais/' 

" Bardais ! Bardais ! " cried Bouvard, 
bursting into laughter. li Listen to what 
my newspaper here says r l The learned 
Dn Bardais has been suddenly seized with 
mental alienation. The madness with 
which he has been stricken is of a scientific 
character. It is well known that he was 
absorbingly engaged in an inquiry into the 
nature ot venomous substances, and latterly 
he had fallen into the delusion that every- 
body he met was under the influence of 
poison, and endeavoured to persuade them 
that such was their condition. He was last 

night trans- 
ported to the 
Maison de Sante 
of Dr. Blank, 1 " 
4i Nicette ! " 
M Anatole ! " 
The two 
young persons 
fell into each 
other's arms. 

by Google 

Original from 

A Day with Dr. Conan Doyle. 

By Harry How. 

Fnm a Photo* &y] 


tfittinH i£ Fr*. 

JETECnVISM up to dale— 
that is what Dr. Conan 
Doyle has given us, We 
were fast becoming weary of 
the representative of the old 
school ; he was, at his best, a 
very ordinary mortal, and, with the pal- 
pable clues placed in his path, the average 
individual could have easily cornered the 
"wanted'' one without calling in the 
police or the private inquiry agent. Sher- 

lock Holmes entered the criminal arena. 
He started on the track, A clever fellow ; 
a cool, calculating fellow, this Holmes, 
He could see the clue to a murder in a ball 
of worsted, and certain conviction in a 
saucer of milk. The little things we re- 
garded as nothings were all and everything 
to Holmes. He was an artful fellow, too ; 
and though he knew "all about it " from the 
first, he ingeniously contrived to hold his 
secret until wv got to the very last line in 




Frr<m a Phoio r b v Elliott rf 

the story. There never was a man who 
propounded a criminal conundrum and 
gave us so many 
guesses until we 
11 gave it up IT as 
Sherlock Holmes. 

I thought of all 
this as 1 was on 
my way to a 
prettily-built and 
modest - looking 
red-brick resi- 
dence in the 
neighbourhood of 
South Norwood. 
Here lives Dr. 
Conan Doyle, I 
found him totally 
different from the 
man I expected 
to see ; but that 
is always the case, 
There was no- 
thing lynx-eyed, 
nothing u detec- 
tive* 1 about him 
— not even the 
regulation walk 
of*our modern solver of mysteries. He is 
just a happy, genial, homely man ; tall, 
broad-shouldered, with a hand that grips 
you heartily, and, in its sincerity of welcome, 
hurts. He is brown and bronzed, for he 
enters liberally into all outdoor sports — 
football, tennis, bowl-, and cricket. His 
average with the 
bat this season is 
twenty. He h a 
capital amateur 
too. But in exer- 
cise he most leans 
towards tricy 
cling. He is never 
happier than 
when on his tan- 
dem with his wife, 
and starting on a 
thirty-mile spin ; 
never merrier 
than when he 
perches his little 
three - year - old 
Mary on the 
wheels, and runs 
her round the 
green lawn of his 

Dr. Doyle and 

I, accompanied by his wife, a most charm- 
ing woman, went through the rooms as a 

preliminary. The 
study is a quiet 
corner, and has 
on its walls many 
remarkable pic- 
tures by I)r, 
Doyle's father. 
Dr. Doyle comes 
of a family of 
artists. His 
grandfather, John 
Doyle, was the 
celebrated "R 
B., Jt whose pic- 
torial political 
skits came out for 
a period of over thirty years 
without the scent of his 
identity leaking out* A few 
of these, which the Govern- 
ment purchased for £ipcOj 
are in the British Museum, 
A LuiM uf the artist is in the 
entrance halL John Doyle's 
sons were all artists. " Dicky 
Doyle," as he was known to 
his familiars, designed the cover of Punch* 
His signature 4 * D,, 1 ' with a little bird on 
top, is in the comer. On the mantelpiece 
of the study, near to an autograph portrait 
of J, M, Barrie, is a remarkably interesting 
sketch, reproduced in these pages, It was 
done by John Doyle, and represented the 



1 84 


'"■ ..-»■** 


ir^tx a Sk trh] 


~J>/ JtAn D*)jft* t 

Queen at the age of six driving in Hyde 
Park. The story is told how the little 
princess caught sight of old John Doyle 
trying to get a sketch of her, and graciously 
commanded her chaise to stop, so that it 
might be done. 

The dining-room contains some good oil 
paintings by Mrs. Doyle's brother. On the 
top of a large 
book-case are a 
number of Arctic 
trophies, brought 
by the owner of 
the house from a 
region where the 
climate is even 
chillier than our 
own. The draw- 
ing™ room is a 
pretty little apart- 
ment. The chairs 
are cosy, the after- 
noon tea refresh- 
ing, and the thin 
bread and butter 
delicious. You 
may notice a por- 
trait of the Eng- 
1 i s h team of 
cricketer? who r^'o ^' 

went out to Holland last year. Dr. Doyle 
is among them. Here arc many more 
pictures by his father. 

"That plaque in the corner? 11 said Dr. 
Doyle , taking down a large blue -and- white 
plate. "It was one of the late Khedive's 
dinner plates. When I was leaving Ports- 
mouth, an old patient came to hid me 





good-bye. She brought this as a little 
something to remember her by. Her son 
was a young able-bodied seaman on the 
Inflexible at the 
bombardment of 
Alexandria, A 
shot made a 
hole in the Khe- 
dive's palace, 
and when the 
lad landed he 
found it out, 
and crawled 
through. He 
found himself in 
the Khedive's 
kitchen ! With 
an eye to loot, he 
seized this plate, 
and crawled out 
again. It was 
the most trea- 
sured thing the 
old lady pos- 
sessed t she said, 
and she begged 
me to take tt> 
I thought much 
of the action," 

We lighted 
our cigars, and 
settled down 
again in the 

Dr> Doyle was 
horn in Edin- 
burgh in 1859, He went to Stonyhurst in 
Lancashire at nine, and there had a school 
magazine which be edited, and in which he 

From a Fhatn ljt] sm\ m CON AH DOttLB AND DAL'GIITKK* 

wrote the poetry; He remained here seven 
years, when he went to Germany. There 
were a few English boys at this particular 
school, and a second magazine made its 
appearance- But its opinions were too out- 
spoken ; its motto was, * ( Fear not, and put 
it in print/* Af* a matter of fact, a small 
leading article appeared on the injustice of 
reading the boys" letters before they were 
given into their hands. The words used 
were very strong, and a court-martial was 
held on the proprietors of the organ, and 
its further publication prohibited. At 
seventeen Dr. Doyle went to Edinburgh, 
and began to study medicine. At nineteen 
he sent his first real attempt — a story 
entitled, "The Mystery of the Sassassa 
Valley |" to Chambers* s Jnurmil y for which 
he received three guineas. 

" I remained a student until one-and- 
twenty," said Dr. Doyle, (< medicine in the 
day, sometimes a little writing at night, 
Just at this time an opportunity occurred 

for me to go to 
th.2 Arctic Seas 
in a whaler. I 
determined to 
go, putting off 
passing my 
exams, for a 
year. What a 
climate it is in 
those regions ! 
We don't under- 
stand it . here. 
I don't fiiean 
its coldness — I 
refer to its sani- 
tary properties, 
I believe, in 
years to come, 
it will be the 
world's sana- 
torium. Here, 
thousands of 
miles from the 
smoke, where 
the air is the 
finest in the 
world, the in- 
valid and weakly 
ones will go 
when all othei 
places have 
failed to give 
them the air 
they want, and revive and live again under 
the marvdloi, 1 * invigorating properties of 

the ^Ef^lWNflLHIGAN 

Ctnan Dofdt, 



{i What with whaling, shooting, and box- 
ing —for I took a couple of pairs of gloves 
with me, and used to box with the steward 
in the stokehole at night — -we had a good 
time. On my return, I went back to medi- 
cine in Edinburgh again. There I mot 
the man who suggested Sherlock Holmes 
to me — -here is a portrait of him as he was 
in those days, and he is strong and hearty, 
and still in Edinburgh now/' 

I looked at the portrait. It represented 
the features of Mr. Joseph Bell, M.D,, whose 
name I had 
heard mentioned 
whilst with Pro- 
fessor Blackie a 
few months ago 
in the Scotch 

u I was clerk 
in Mr. Bell's 
ward/' con- 
tin tied Dr, Doyle, 
"A clerk's duties 
are to note down 
all the patients 
to be seen, and 
muster them to- 
get her. Often 
I would have 
seventy or 
eighty. When 
everything was 
ready, I would 
show them in 
to Mr. Bell, 
who would have 
the students 
gathered round 
him. His intui- 
tive powers were 
simply marvel- 
lous. Case No, i 
would step up. 

*"I see/ said 
Mr. Bell, 'you're 

suffering from drink. You even carry a 
flask in the inside breast pocket of your 
coat. 1 

H Another case would come forward. 

" 4 Cobbler, I see/ Then he would turn 
to the student*, and point out to them that 
the inside of the knee of the man's trousers 
was worn. That was where the man had 
rested the lapstone — a peculiarity only found 
in cobblers. 

il All this impressed me very much. He 
was continually before me — his sharp, 
piercing grey eyes, eagle nose, and striking 

J'T't h a Photo, l^t} 


features. There he would sit in his chair 
with fingers together — he was very dex- 
terous with his hands — and just look at 
the man or woman before him. He 
was most kind and painstaking with the 
students — a real good friend— and when I 
took my degree and went to Africa the 
remarkable individuality and discriminating 
tact of my old master made a deep and 
lasting impression on me, though I had not 
the faintest idea that it would one day lead 
me to forsake medicine for story writing/' 

It was in 1882 
that Dr. Doyle 
started practis- 
ing in Southsea, 
where he con- 
tinued for eight 
years. By de- 
grees literature 
took his atten- 
tion from the 
preparation of 
prescriptions. In 
his spare time he 
wrote some fifty 
or sixty stories 
for many of the 
best magazines, 
during these 
eight years be- 
foie his name 
became really 
known, A small 
selection of ihe*e 
tales has been 
published since, 
under the title 
of "The Captain 
of the Polestar/ 1 
and has passed 
through some 
four editions. 
He was by no 
means forgetting 
the opportuni- 
ties offered to such a truly inventive mind 
as his in novel writing. Once again the 
memory of his old master came back to 
him, He wrote " A Study in Scarlet/' 
which was refused by many, but even- 
tually sold outright by its author for £2$. 
Then came " Micah Clarke M — a story 
dealing with the Monmouth Rebellion, 
This was remarkably successful, "The 
Sign of Four 1 ' came next, and the pub- 
lication of this enhanced the reputation 
of its author verv considerably. Sherlock 

[Eltioita Prp r 



agreeable to the public, which soon began 
to evince an intense interest in them, and 
expectantly watched and waited for every 
new mystery which the famous detective 
undertook to solve. But Holmes — so to 
speak — was put back for a time. 

" I determined," said Dr. Doyle, " to test 
my own powers to the utmost. You must 






remember that I was still following medi- 
cine. Novel writing was in a great measure 
a congenial pastime, a pastime that I felt 
would inevitably become converted into a 
profession. I devoted two years to the 
study of fourteenth -century life in England 
— Edward III.'s reign -when the country 
was at its height. The period has hardly 
been treated in fiction at all, and I had to 

go back to early authorities for everything. 
I set myself to reconstruct the archer, who 
has always seemed to me to be the most 
striking figure in English history. Of 
course, Scott has done him finely and 
inimitably in his outlaw aspect. But it 
was not as an outlaw that he was famous. 
He was primarily a soldier, one of the 
finest that the world has ever seen — rough, 
hard-drinking, hard-swearing, but full of 
pluck and animal spirits. The archers 
must have been extraordinary fellows. The 
French, who have always been gallant sol- 
diers, gave up trying to fight them at last, 
and used to allow English armies to wander 
unchecked through the country. It was 
the same in Spain and in Scotland. Then 
the knights^ I think, were much more 
human-kind of people than they have 
usually been depicted. Strength had little 
to do with their knightly qualities. Some 
of the most famous of them were very weak 
men, physically. Chandos was looked upon 
as the first knight in Europe when he was 
over eighty. My study of the period ended 
in my writing, * The White Company,' 
which has, I believe, gone through a fair 
number of editions already. 

" I made up my mind to abandon my 
practice at Southsea, come to London, and 
Start as an eye specialist — a branch of the 
profession of which I was peculiarly 
fond. I studied at Paris and Vienna, 
and, whilst in the latter city, wrote 4 The 
Doings of Raffle Haws.' On my return 
to London I took rooms in Wimpole- 
street, had a brass plate put on the door, 
and started. But orders for stories began 
to come in, and at the expiration of three 
months I forsook medicine altogether, came 
to Norwood, and started writing for The 
Strand Magazine." 

I learnt a number of interesting facts 
regarding " The Adventures of Sherlock 
Holmes." Dr. Doyle invariably conceives 
the end of his story first, and writes up to 
it. He gets the climax, and his art lies in the 
ingenious way in which he conceals it from 
his readers. A story — similar to those 
which have appeared in these pages — occu- 
pies about a week in writing, and the ideas 
have come at all manner of times — when out 
walking, cricketing, tricycling, or playing 
tennis. He works between the hours of break- 
fast and lunch, and again in the evening from 
five to eight, writing some three thousand 
words a day. He receives many sugges- 
tions from the public. On the morning of 

my v l^MTffiPtefer isoning ^ 

1 88 


had been sent to him from New Zealand, 
and the previous day a great packet of 
documents relating to a disputed will had 
been received from Bristol. But the sug- 
gestions are seldom practicable. Other 
letters come from people who have been 
reading the latest of his stories, saying 
whether they guessed the mystery or not, 
His reason for refraining from writing any 
more stories for a while is a candid one. He 
is fearful of spoiling a character of which 
he is particularly fond, but he declares that 
already he has enough material to carry him 
through another series, and merrily assures 
me that he thought the opening story of 
the next series of u Sherlock Holmes," to 
he published in this magazine, was of such 
an unsolvable character, that he had posi- 
tively bet his wife a shilling that she would 
not guess the true solution of it until she 
got to the end of the chapter ! 

After my visit to Dr. Doyle, I communi- 
cated with Mr, Joseph Bell, in Edinburgh 
— the gentleman whose ingenious person- 
al ity suggested Sherlock Holmes to his 
old pupih The letter he sent in reply is of 
such interest that it is appended in its 
entirety :■ — 

2 } Melville-crescent, 

Edinburgh, June 1 6, 1892. 
Dear Sir, — You ask 
me about the kind 
ot" teaching to which 
Dr, Conan Doyle 
has so kindly re- 
ferred, when speak- 
ing of his ideal 
character, u Sherlock 
Holme s/- D r. 
Conan Doyle has, 
by his imaginative 
genius, made a great 
deal out of very 
little, and his warm 
remembrance of one 
of his old teachers 
has coloured the 
picture* In teach- 
ing the treatment of 
disease and accident, 
all careful teachers 
have first to show 
the student how to 
recognise accurately 
the case. The re- 
cognition depends in 
great measure on 
the accurate and 
rapid appreciation of ^t^i 1 

Mf. JOS 

small points in which the diseased differs 
from the healthy state. In fact, the student 
must be taught to observe. To interest 
him in this kind of work we teachers find 
it useful to show the student how much a 
trained use of the observation can discover 
in ordinary matters such as the previous 
history, nationality, and occupation of a 

The patient, too, is likely to be impressed 
by your ability to cure him in the future 
if he sees you, at a glance, know much of 
his past. And the whole trick is much 
easier than it appears at first. 

For instance, physiognomy helps you to 
nationality, accent to district, and, to an 
educated ear, almost to county, Nearly 
every handicraft writes its sign manual on 
the hands. The scars of the miner differ 
from those of the quarry man. The 
caq^enter's callosities are not those of the 
mason. The shoemaker and the tailor are 
quite different. 

The soldier and the sailor differ in gait, 
though last month I had to tell a man who 
said he was a soldier that he had been a 
sailor in his boyhood. The subject is end- 
less : the tattoo marks on hand or arm will 
tell their own tale as to voyages ; the orna- 
ments on the watch chain of the success- 
ful settler will tell 
you where he made 
his money. A New 
Zealand squatter will 
not wear a gold 
mohur, nor an en- 
gineer on an Indian 
railway a Maori 
stone. Carry the 
same idea of using 
one's senses accur- 
ate!}' ami constantly, 
and you will see that 
many a surgical case 
will bring his past 
history, national, 
social f and medical, 
into the consulting- 
room as he walks in. 
Dr, Conan Doj le's 
genius and intense 
imagination has on 
this slender basis 
made his detective 
stories a distinctly 
n ew depart u re , bu t h e 
owes much less than 
he thinks to yours 

& Z SSL. a**J?" Q " f N m\y Joseph Bell, 


A Nightmare- of the Doldrums. 

By W. Clark Russkll. 
[A Terrible St.ry of the Sea, only to be read by people of strong nerves.] 

HE Justitia was a smart little 
barque of 395 tons. I had 
viewed her with something 
of admiration as she lay in 
mid-stream in the Hooghly 
— somewhere off the Coolie 
Bazaar, I think it was. There was steam 
then coming to Calcutta, though not as 
steam now is ; very little of it was in any 
sense palatial, and some of the very best of 
it was to be as promptly distanced under 
given conditions of weather by certain of 
the clippers, clouded with studding sails and 
flying kites to the starry buttons of their 
sky-sail mast-heads, as the six-knot ocean 
tramp of to-day is to be outrun by the four- 
masted leviathan thrashing through it to 
windward with her yards fore and aft ! 

I — representing in those days a large 
Birmingham firm of dealers in the fal-lal 
industries — had wished to make my way 
from Calcutta to Capetown. I saw the 
Justitia and took a fancy to her ; I admired 
the long, low, piratic run of her hull, as she 
lay with straining hawsepipes on the rush- 
ing stream of the Hooghly ; upon which, 
as you watched, there might go by in the 
space of an hour some half-score at least of 
dead natives made ghastly canoes of by 
huge birds, erect upon the corpses, burying 
their beaks as they sailed along. 

I found out that the Justitia was one of 
the smartest of the Thames and East India 
traders of that time, memorable on one 
occasion for having reeled off a clean seven- 
teen knots by the log under a main top- 
gallant sail, set over a single-reefed topsail. 
It was murmured, indeed, that the mate 
who hove that log was drunk when he 
counted the knots ; yet the dead reckoning 
tallied with the next day's observations. I 
called upon the agents, was told that 
thejusii.ia was not a passenger ship, but 
that I could hire a cabin for the run to 
Capetown if I chose ; a sum in rupees, 
trifling compared with the cost of transit 
by steam, was named. I went on board, 
found the captain walking up and down 
under the awning, and agreeably killed an 

hour in a chat with as amiable a seaman as 
ever it was my good fortune to meet. 

We sailed in the middle of July. 
Nothing worth talking about happened 
during our run down the Bay of Bengal. 
The crew aforemast were all of them 
Englishmen ; there were twelve, counting 
the cook and steward. The captain was a 
man named Cayzer ; the only mate of the 
vessel was one William Perkins. The 
boatswain, a rough, short, hairy, immensely 
strong man, acted as second mate and kept 
a look-out when Perkins was below. But 
he was entirely ignorant of navigation, and 
owned to me that he read with difficulty 
words of one syllable, and could not write. 

I was the only passenger. My name, I 
may as well say here, is Thomas Barron. 
Our run to the south Ceylon parallels was 
. slow and disappointing. The monsoon was 
light and treacherous, sometimes dying out 
in a sort of laughing, mocking gust till the 
whole ocean was a sheet-calm surface, as 
though the dependable trade wind was 
never again to blow. 

44 Oh, yes," said Captain Cayzer to me, 
" we're used to the unexpected hereabouts. 
Monsoon or no monsoon, I'll tell you what : 
you're always safe in standing by for an 
Irishman's hurricane down here." 

"And what sort of breeze is that?" I 

" An up-and-down calm," said he ; " as 
hard to know where it begins as to guess 
where it'll end." 

However, thanks to the frequent trade 
puffs and other winds, which tasted not like 
the monsoon , we crawled through those 
latitudes which Ceylon spans, and fetched 
within a few degrees of the Equator. In 
this part of the waters we were to be thank- 
ful for even the most trifling donation of 
catspaw, or for the equally small and short- 
lived mercy of the gust of the electric 
cloud. I forget how many days we were 
out from Calcutta : the matter is of no 
moment. I left my cabin one morning 
some hour after the sun had risen, by which 
time the decks had been washed down, and 




were already dry, with a salt sparkle as of 
bright white sand on the face of the planks; 
so roasting was it. I went into the head to 
get a bath under the pump there. I feel in 
memory, as I write, the exquisite sensation 
of that luxury of brilliant brine, cold as 
snow, melting through me from head to 
foot to the nimble plying of the pump- 
brake by a seaman whom I regularly 
engaged for this job. 

It was a true tropic morning. The sea, 
of a pale lilac, flowed in a long-drawn, 
gentle heave of swell into the south-west ; 
the glare of the early morning brooded in a 
sort of steamy whiteness in the atmosphere ; 
the sea went working to its distant reaches, 
and floated into a dim blending of liquid 
air and water, so that you couldn't tell 
where the sky ended ; a weak, hot wind 
blew over the taffrail, but it was without 
weight. The courses swung to the swell 
without response to the breathings of the 
air ; and on high the light cotton- white 
royals were scarcely curved by the delicate 
passage of the draught. 

Yet the barque had steerage way. When 
I looked through the grating at her metalled 
forefoot I saw the ripples plentiful as harp- 
strings threading aft, and whilst I dried 
myself I watched the slow approach of £ 
piece of timber hoary with barnacles, and 
venerable with long hairs of seaweed, amid 
and around which a thousand little fish 
were sporting, many-coloured as though a 
rainbow had been shivered. 

I returned to my cabin, dressed, and 
stepped on to the quarter-deck, where I 
found some men spreading the awning, and 
the captain in a white straw hat viewing an 
object out upon the water through a tele- 
scope, and talking to the boatswain, who 
stood alongside. 

44 What do you sec ? " I asked. 

44 Something that resembles a raft," 
answered the captain. 

The thing he looked at was about a mile 
distant, some three points on the starboard 
bow. On pointing the telescope, I dis- 
tinctly made out the fabric of a raft, fitted 
with a short mast, to which midway a 
bundle — it resembled a parcel — was attached. 
A portion of the raft was covered by a white 
sheet or cloth, whence dangled a short 
length of something chocolate-coloured, in- 
distinguishable even with the glass, lifting 
and sinking as the raft rose and fell upon 
the flowing heave of the sea. 

44 This ocean," said the captain, taking 
the glass from me, 44 is a big volume of 

tragic stories, and the artist who illustrates 
the book does it in that fashion, " and he 
nodded in the direction of the raft. 

i: What do you make of it, boatswain ? " 
I asked. 

44 It looks to me," he answered in his 
strong, harsh, deep voice, 44 like a religious 
job — one of thtm rafts the Burmah covies 
float away their dead on. I never see one 
afore, sir, but I've heard tell of such 

We sneaked stealthily towards the raft. 
It was seven bells — half-past seven — and 
the sailors ate their breakfast on the fore- 
castle, that they might view the strange 
contrivance. The mate, Mr. Perkins, came 
on deck to relieve the boatswain, and, after 
inspecting the raft through the telescope, 
gave it as his opinion that it was a Malay 
floating bier — 44 a Mussulman trick of ocean 
burial, anyhow," said he. 44 There should 
be a jar of water aboard the raft, and cakes 
and fruit for the corpse to regale on, if he 
ha'n't been dead long." 

The steward announced breakfast ; the 
captain told him to hold it back awhile. 
He was as curious as I to get a close view 
of the queer object with its white cloth and 
mast and parcel and chocolate-coloured 
fragment half in and half out like a barge's 
leeboard, and he bade the man at the helm 
put the wheel over by a spoke or two ; but 
the wind was nearly gone, the barque 
scarcely responded to the motion of her 
rudder, the thread-like lines at the cutwater 
had faded, and a roasting, oppressive calm 
was upon the water, whitening it out into 
a tingling sheen of quicksilver with a fiery 
shaft of blinding dazzle, solitary and splen- 
did, working with the swell like some 
monstrous serpent of light right under the 

The raft was about six cables' lengths off 
us when the barque came to a dead stand, 
with a soft, universal hollowing in of her 
canvas from royal to course, as though, like 
something sentient, she delivered one final 
sigh before the swoon of the calm seized 
her. But now we were near enough to 
resolve the floating thing with the naked 
eye into details. It was a raft formed of 
bamboo canes. A mast about six feet tall 
was erected upon it ; the dark thing over 
the edge proved a human leg, and, when 
the fabric lifted with the swell and raised 
the leg clear, we saw that the foot had been 
eaten away by fish, a number of which 
were swimming about the raft, sending 
little flashes of foam over the pale surface 




as they darted along with their back or 
dorsal fins exposed. They were ail little 
fish ; I saw no sharks. The body to which 
the leg belonged was covered by a white 
cloth. The captain called my attention to 
the parcel attached to the mast, and said 
that it possibly contained the food which the 
Malays leave beside their dead after burial. 

u But let's go to breakfast now, Mr. 
Barron } ,T said he ? with a slow, reproachful, 
impatient look round the breathless scene 
of ocean. M If there's any amusement to be 
got out of that thing yonder there's a pre- 
cious long, quiet day before us, I fear, for 
the entertainment/* 

We breakfasted, and in due course re- 
turned on deck. The slewing of the barque 
had caused the raft to shift its bearings, 
otherwise its distance remained as it was 
when we went below. 

4t Mr. Perkins,* 1 said the captain, u lower 
a boat and bring aboard that parcel from 
the raft's jury-mast, and likewise take a 
peep at the figure under the cloth, and re- 
port its sex and what it looks like/* 

1 asked leave to go in the boat, and when 
she was lowered , with three men in her, 
I followed Mr. Perkins, and we rowed over 
to the raft, All about the frail bamboo con- 
trivance the water was beautiful with the 
colours and movements of innumerable fish t 
As we approached we were greeted by an 
evil smell. The raft seemed to have been 

afloat for a considerable period ; its sub- 
merged portion was green with marine adhe- 
sions or growths. The fellow in the bows 
of the boat, manoeuvring with the boat- 
hook, cleverly snicked the parcel from the 
jury-mast and handed it along to the mate, 
who put it beside him without opening it, 
for that was to be the captain's privilege. 

"Off with that cloth," said Mr, Perkins, 
11 and then back water a bit out of this 

The bowman jerked the cloth clear of the 
raft with his boathook ; the white sheet 
floated like a snowflake upon the water for 
a few breaths, then slowly sank. The body 
exposed w r as stark-naked and tawny. It was 
a male. I saw nothing revolting in the 
thing ; it would have been otherwise per- 
haps had it been while. The hair was long 
and black, the nose aquiline, the mouth 
puckered into the aspect of a harelip ; the 
gleam of a few white teeth painted a ghastly 
contemptuous grin upon the dead face. 
The only shocking part was the footless 

11 Shall I hook him overboard, sir ? " said 
the bowman. 

"No, let him take his ease as he lies," 
answered the mate, and with that we re- 
turned to the barque* 

We climbed over the side, the boat was 
hoisted to the davits, and Mr. Perkins took 
the parcel out of the stern-sheets and handed 

it to the captain. 
The cover was a 
kind of fine can- 
vas, very neatly 
stitched with 
white thread. 
Captain Cayzer 
ripped through 
the stitching 
with his knife, 
and exposed a 
couple of books 
bound in some 
kind of skin or 
parchment. They 
were probably 
the Koran, but 
the characters 
none of us knew. 
The captain 
turned them 
about for a bit, 
and I stood by 
looking at them ; 
he I lien replaced 
them in their 

inal from 





canvas cover and put them down upon the 
skylight, and by and bye, on his leaving the 
deck, he took them below to his cabin. 

The moon rose about ten that night. She 
came up hot, distorted , with a sullen face 
of belted vapour, but was scon clear of the 
dewy thickness over the horizon and show* 
ering a pure 
greenish silver 
upon the sea. 
She made the 
night lovely and 
cool ; her reflec- 
tion sparkled in 
the dew along 
the rails, and her 
beam whitened 
out the canvas 
into the tender 
softness of 
wreaths of cloud 
motionless upon 
the summit of 
some dark heap 
of mountain. I 
looked for the 
raft and saw it 
plainly, and it is 
not in language 
to express how 
the sight of that 
frail cradle of 
death deepened 
the universal 
silence and ex- 
panded the pro- 
digious distances 
defined by the 
stars, and accen- 
tuated the tre- 
mendous spirit 
of loneliness that 
slept like a pre* 
aence in that 
wide region of 
sea and air. 

There had not 
been a stir of 
wind all day ; 
not the faintest 
breathing of 

breeze had tarnished the sea down to the 
hour of midnight when, feeling weary, I 
withdrew to my cabin, I slept well, spite 
of the heat and the cockroaches, and rose 
at seven, I found the steward in the cabin. 
His face wore a look of concern, and on 
seeing me he instantly exclaimed : 

" The captain seems very ill, sir, Alight 

Digitized by GoOgl 


you know anything of phytic? Neither 
Mr. Perkins nor me can make out what's 
the matter," 

11 1 know nothing of physic," T I answered, 
41 but Til look in on him. tT 

I stepped to his door, knocked and en- 
tered. Captain Cayzer lay in a bunk under 

a middling-sized 
porthole : the 
cabin was full ot 
the morning 
light* I started 
and stood at 
gaze, scarce 
crediting my 
sight, so shocked 
and astounded 
was I by the 
dreadful change 
which had hap- 
pened in the 
night in the poor 
man's appear- 
ance. His face 
was blue, and I 
remarked a 
cadaverous sink- 
ing in of the 
eyeballs: the 
lips were livid j the hands like- 
wise blue, but strangely wrinkled 
like a washerwoman's, On 
seeing me he asked in a husky 
whispering voice for a drink of 
water. I handed him a full 
pannikin, which he drained 
feverishly, and then began to 
moan and cry out, making some 
weak miserable efforts to rub 
first one arm, then the other, 
then his legs. 

The steward stood in the 
doorway. I turned to him, 
sensible that my face was ashen, 
and asked some questions, 1 then 
said, "Where is Mr. Perkins? 11 
He was on deck. I bade the 
steward attend to the captain, 
and passed through the hatch 
to the quarter-deck, where I 
found the mate. 
* k Do you know that the captain is very 
ill ? M said I. 

u Do I know it, sir ? Why, yes, IVe 
been sitting by him chafing his limbs and 
giving him water to drink, and attending 
to him in other ways. What is it, d'ye 
know, sir ? " 


■■■■■^Tf> | 



" Oh, my God, I hope not ! " he ex- 
claimed. ** How could it be cholera ? How 
co;uld cholera come aboard ? " 

" A friend of mine died of cholera at 
Rangoon when I was there," said I. " I 
recognise the looks, and will swear to the 

44 But how could it have come aboard ? " 
he exclaimed, in a voice low but agitated. 

My eyes, as he asked the question, were 
upon the raft. I started and cried, " Is 
that thing still there ? " 

44 Ay," said the mate, " we haven't budged 
a foot all night." 

The suspicion rushed upon me whilst I 
looked at the raft, and ran my eyes over 
the bright hot morning sky and the bur- 
nished surface of sea, sheeting into dim- 
ness in the misty junction of heaven and 

"I shouldn't be surprised," said I, " to 
discover that we brought the cholera aboard 
with us yesterday from that dead man's raft 

"How is cholera to be caught in that 
fashion ? " exclaimed Mr. Perkins, pale and 
a bit wild in his way of staring at me. 

44 We may have brought the poison 
aboard in the parcel of books." 
" Is cholera to be caught so ? " 
44 Undoubtedly. The disease may be 
propagated by human intercourse. Why 
not then by books which have been handled 
by cholera-poisoned people, or by the atmo- 
sphere of a body dead of the plague ? " I 
added, pointing at the raft. 

41 No man amongst us is safe, then, 
now ? " cried the mate. 

44 I'm no doctor," said I ; 44 but I know 
thi? ? that contagious poisons such as scarlet 
fever, glanders, and so on may retain their 
properties in a dormant state for years. I've 
heard tell of scores of instances of cholera 
being propagated through articles of dress. 
Depend upon it," said I, 44 that we brought 
the poison aboard with us yesterday from 
that accursed death-raft yonder." 

44 Aren't the books in the captain's 
cabin ? " said the mate. 
44 Are they?" 

u He took them below yesterday, sir." 
44 The sooner they're overboard the 
better, ' I exclaimed, and returned to the 

I went to the captain, and found the 
steward rubbing him. The disease appeared 
to be doing its work with horrible rapidity ; 
the eyes were deeply sunk and red ; every 
feature had grown sharp and pinched as 

after a long wasting disease; the complexion 
was thick and muddy. Those who have 
watched beside cholera know that terrific 
changes may take place in a few minutes. 
I cast my eyes about for the parcel of books, 
and, spying it, took a stick from a corner of 
the berth, hooked up the parcel, and, pass- 
ing it through the open porthole, shook it 

The captain followed my movements 
with a languid rolling of his eyes but spoke 
not, though he groaned often, and fre- 
quently cried out. I could not in the least 
imagine what was proper to be done. His 
was the most important life on board the 
ship, and yet I could only look on and help- 
lessly watch him expire. 

He lived till the evening, and seldom 
spoke save to call upon God to release him. 
I had found an opportunity to tell him that 
he was ill of the cholera, and explained 
how it happened that the horrible dis- 
temper was on board, for I was absolutely 
sure we had brought it with us in that 
parcel of books ; but his anguish was so 
keen, his death so close then, that I cannot 
be sure he understood me. He died shortly 
after seven o'clock, and I have since learnt 
that that time is one of the critical hours 
in cholera. 

When the captain was dead I went to 
the mate, and advised him to cast the body 
overboard at once. He called to some of 
the hands. They brought the body out just 
as the poor fellow Jiad died, and, securing a 
weight to the feet, they lifted the corpse 
over the rail, and dropped it. No burial 
service was read. We were all too panic- 
stricken for reverence. We got rid of the 
body quickly, the men handling the thing 
as though they felt the death in it stealing 
into them through their fingers — hoping 
and praying that wil h it the cholera would 
go. It was almost dark when this hurried 
funeral was ended. I stood beside the mate, 
looking round the sea for the shadow of 
wind in any quarter. The boatswain, who 
had been one of the men that handled the 
body, came up to us. 

44 Ain't there nothing to be done with 
that corpus out there ? " he exclaimed, 
pointing with a square hand to the raft. 
4i The men are agreed that there'll come no 
wind whilst that there dead blackie keeps 
afloat. And ain't he enough to make a 
disease of the hatmosphere itself, from 
horizon to horizon ? " 

I waited for the mate to answer. He 
said gloomily, 41 I'm of the poor captain's 




mind. You'll need to make something 
fast to the body to sink it, Who's to 
handle it ? I'll a;.k no man to do what I 
wouldn't do myself, and rat me if I'd do 

11 We brought the poison aboard by visit- 
ing the raft, bo'sun, 11 said L *' Best leave 
the thing alone. The corpse is too far off 
to corrupt the air, as you suppose ; though 
the imagination's nigh as bad as the reality/ 1 
said I, spitting, 

il If there's any of them game to sink 
the thing, may they do it?" said the boat- 
swain. 'For if there's ne'er a breeze of 
wind to come while it's there *' 

" Chaw ! T - said the mate. "But try 'em, 
if you will. They may take the boat when 
the moon's up, should there come no wind 
first, 1 ' 

An hour later the steward told me that 
two of the sailors were 
seized with cramps and 
convulsions. After 
this no more was said 
about taking the boat 
and sinking the body. 
The mate went into 
the forecastle. On his 
return, he begged me 
to go and look at the 

1 i Better make sure 
that it's cholera with 
them too, sir," said 
he, " You know the 
signs ; 1f and, folding 
his arms, he leaned 
against the bulwarks 
in a posture of pro- 
found dejection. 

I went forward and 
descended the fore- 
scuttle, and Found my- 
self in a small cave. 
The heat was over- 
powering ; there was 
no air to pass through 
the little hatch ; the 
place was dimly lighted 
by an evil -smelling 
lamp hanging under a 
beam, but, poor as the 
illumination was, I 
could see by it, and 
when I looked at the 
two men and spoke to them, I saw how it 
was, and came away sick at heart, and 
half dead with the hot foul air of the fore- 
castle, and in deepest distress of mind t 

moreover, through perceiving that the two 
men had formed a part cf the crew of the 
boat when we visited I he raft. 

One died at six o'clock next morning, and 
the other at noon ; but before this second 
man was dead three others had been 
attacked, and one of them w F as the mate. 
And still never a breath of air stirred the 
silver surface of the sea. 

The mate was a strong man, and his fear 
of death made the conflict dreadful to 
behold, I was paralysed at first by the 
suddenness of the thing and the tremen- 
dous character of our calamity, and, never 
doubling that I must speedily prove a 
vietiiji as being one who had gone in the 
boat, I cast myself down upon a sofa in 
the cabin and there sat, waiting for the first 
signal of pain, sometimes praying, or 
striving to pray, and seeking hard to 


accustom my mind to the fate I regarded 
as inevitable, But a keen and biting sense 
of my cowardice came to my rescue. I 
sprang to my feet and went to the mate's 




berth, and nursed him till he died s which 
was shortly before midnight of the day of 
his seizure— so swift and sure was the poison 
we had brought from the raft* He was 
dropped over the side, and in a few hours 
later he was followed by three others. I 
cannot be sure of my figures : it was a time 
of delirium j and I recall some details of it 
with difficulty, but I am pretty sure that by 
the morning of the fourth day of our fall- 
ing in with the accursed raft the ships 
company had been reduced to the boatswain 
and five men, making, with myselF, seven 
survivors of fifteen souls who had sailed 
from Calcutta. 

It was some time about the middle of the 
fifth day — two men were then lying stricken 
in the forecastle — the boatswain and a 
couple of seamen came aft to the quarter- 
deck where I was standing. The wheel 
was deserted : no man had grasped it since 
the captain's 
death ; indeed 
there was no- 
thing to be done 
at the helm. 
The ocean 
floated in liquid 
glass ; the smell 
of frying paint, 
bubbled into 
cinders by the 
roasting rays, 
rose like the 
stench of a 
second plague to 
the nostrils. The 
boatswain and 
his companions 
had been drink- 
ing ; no doubt 
they had 
broached the 
rum casks below. 
They had never 
entered the cabin 
to my know- 
ledge, nor do 1 
believe they got 

their liquor from there. The boatswain 
carried a heavy weight of some sort, bound 
in canvas > with a long laniard attached to 
it. He flung the parcel into the quarter- 
boat, and roared out— 

u If that don't drag the blistered cuss out 
of sight I'll show the fired carcass the road 
myself* Cholera or no cholera, here goes 1 ~ } 

u What are you going to do ? " said I. 

" Do ? " he cried ; " why sink that there 

plague out of it, so as to give us the chance 
of a breeze. Ain't this hell's delight ? 
What's a-going to blow us clear whilst he 
keeps watch ? ' T And he nodded with a 
fierce drunken gesture towards the raft. 

11 You'll have to handle the body to sink 
it," said I. u You Ye well men, now ; keep 
well, won't you ? The two who are going 
may be the last taken." 

The three of them roared out drunkenJy 
together, so muddling their speech with 
oaths that I did not understand them. I 
walked aft, not liking their savage looks, 
Shouting and cursing plentifully, they 
lowered the boat, got into her by descend- 
ing the falls, arid shoved off for the raft. 
They drew alongside the bamboo con- 
trivance, and I looked to see the boat cap- 
size, so wildly did they sway her in their 
wrath and drink as they fastened the 
weight to the foot of the body, sank it, 


and, with the loom oF their oars, hammered 
at the raft till the bamboos were scattered 
like a sheaf of walking-sticks cut adrift. 
They then returned to the barque f clam- 
bered aboard, and hoisted the boat. 

The two sick men in the forecastle were 
at this time looked after by a seaman named 
Archer, I have said it was the fifth day of 
the calm ; of the ship's company the boat- 
swain and five men were living, but two 



were dying, and that, not counting me, left 
three as yet well and able to get about. 

This man Archer, when the boatswain 
and his companions went forward, came out 
of the forecastle, and drank at the scuttle- 
butt in the waist. He walked unsteadily, 
with that effort after stateliness which is 
peculiar to tipsy sailors ; his eyes wandered, 
and he found some difficulty in hitting the 
bunghole with the dipper. Yet he was a 
civil sort of man when sober ; I had occa- 
sionally chatted with him during his tricks 
at the wheel ; and, feeling the need of 
someone to talk to about our frightful 
situation, I walked up to him, and asked 
how the sick men did. 

" Dying fast," he answered, steadying 
himself by leaning against the scuttle-butt, 
" and a-ravin' like screech-owls." 

" What's to be done, Archer ? " 

" Oh, God alone He knows ! " answered 
the man, and here he put his knuckles into 
his eyes, and began to cry and sob. 

" Is it possible that this calm can last 
much longer ? " 

"It may last six weeks," he answered, 
whimpering. " Down here, when the 
wind's drawed away by the sun, it may 
take six weeks afore it comes on to blow. 
Six weeks of calm down here ain't thought 
nothen of," and here he burst out blubber- 
ing again. 

" Where do you get your liquor from ? " 
said I. 

" Oh, don't talk of it, don't talk of it ! " 
he replied, with a maudlin shake of the 

"Drinking '11 not help you," said I; 
"you'll all be the likelier to catch the 
malady for drinking. This is a sort of time, 
I should think, when a man most wants his 
senses. A breeze may come, and we ought 
to decide where to steer the barque to. The 
vessel's under all plain sail, too, and here 
we are, four men and a useless passenger, 
should it come on to blow suddenly " 

44 We didn't sign on under you," he inter- 
rupted, with a tipsy scowl, " and as ye ain't 
no good either as sailor or doctor, you can 
keep your blooming sarmons to yourself till 
they're asked for." 

I had now not only to fear the cholera 
but to dread the men. My mental distress 
was beyond all power of words to convey : 
I ponder it did not quickly drive me crazy 
and hurry me overboard. I lurked in the 
cabin to be out of sight of the fellows, 
and all the while my imagination was tor- 
menting me with the first pangs of the 

cholera, and every minute I was believing 
I had the mortal malady. Sometimes I 
would creep up the companion steps and 
cautiously peer around, and always I beheld 
the same dead, faint blue surface of sea 
stretching like an ocean in a dream into the 
faint indefinable distances. But shocking 
as that calm was to me I very well knew 
there was nothing wonderful or preter- 
natural in it. Our forefoot five days before 
had struck the equatorial zone called the 
Doldrums, and at a period of the year when 
a fortnight or even a month of atmospheric 
lifelessness might be as confidently looked 
for as the rising and setting of the sun. 

At nine o'clock that night I was sitting 
at the cabin table with biscuit and a little 
weak brandy and water before me, when I 
was hailed by someone at the open skylight 
above. It was black night, though the 
sky was glorious with stars : the moon did 
not rise till after eleven. I had lighted the 
cabin lamp, and t he sheen of it was upon 
the face of Archer. 

" The two men are dead and gone," said 
he, " and now the bo'sun and Bill are down. 
There's Jim dead drunk in his hammock. 
I can't stand the cries of sick men. What 
with liquor and pain, the air below suffo- 
cates me. Let me come aft, sir, and keep 
along with you. I'm sober now. Oh, 
Christ, have mercy upon me ! It's my turn 
next, ain't it ? " 

I passed a glass of brandy to him through 
the skylight, then joined him on deck, and 
told him that the two dead bodies must be 
thrown overboard, and the sick men looked 
to. For some time he refused to go for- 
ward with me, saying that he was already 
poisoned and deadly sick, and a dying man, 
and that I had no right to expect that 
one dying man should wait upon another. 
However, I was determined to turn the 
dead out of the ship in any case, for in 
freeing the vessel of the remains of the 
victims might lie my salvation. He con- 
sented to help me at last, and we went into 
the forecastle and between us got the 
bodies out of their bunks and dropped 
them, weighted, over the rail. The boat- 
swain and the other men lay groaning and 
writhing and crying for water ; cursing at 
intervals. A coil of black smoke went up 
from the lamp-flame to the blackened beam 
under which the light was burning. The 
atmosphere was horrible. I bade Archer 
help me to carry a couple of mattresses on 
to the forecastle, and we got the sick men 
through the hatch, ^ndjthey lay there in 



the coolness with plenty of cold water 
beside them and a heaven of stars above, 
instead of a low-pitched ceiling of grimy 
beam and plank dark with processions of 
cockroaches, and dim with the smoke of 
the stinking slush lamp. 

All this occupied us till about half-past 
ten. When I went aft I was seized with 
nausea, and, sinking upon the skylight, 
dabbled my brow in the dew betwixt the 
lifted lids for the refreshment of the 
moisture. I believed that my time had 
come, and that this sickness was the cholera. 
Archer followed me, and seeing me in a 
posture of torment, as he supposed, con- 
cluded that I was a dead man. He flung 
himself upon the deck with a groan, and lay 
motionless, crying out at intervals, li God, 
have mercy ! God, have mercy ! " and that 
was all. 

In about half an hour's time the sensa- 
tion of sickness passed. I went below for 
some brandy, swallowed half a glass, and 
returned with a dram for Archer, but the 
man had either swooned or fallen asleep, 
and I let him lie. I had my senses per- 
fectly, but felt shockingly weak in body, 

and I could think of nothing 
consolatory to diminish my ex- 
quisite distress of mind; Indeed, 
the capacity of realisation grew 
unendurably poignant I ima- 
gined too well, I figured too 
clearly. I pictured myself as 
lying dead upon the deck of the 
barque, found a corpse by some 
passing vessel after many days ; 
and so I dreamt, often breaking 
away from my horrible ima- 
ginations with moans and starts, 
then pacing the deck to rid me 
of the nightmare hag of thought 
till I was in a fever , then cool- 
ing my head by laying my 
cheek upon the dew-covered 

By and by the moon rose, 
and I siit watching it. In half 
an hour she was a bright light 
in the east t and the shaft of 
silver that slept under her 
stretched to the barque's side. 
It was just then that one of the 
two sick men on the forecastle 
sent up ■ yell- The dreadful 
note rang through the vessel, 
and dropped back to the deck 
in an echo from the canvas, 
A moment after I saw a figure 
get on to the forecastle rail and spring 
overboard. I heard the splash of his body, 
and, bounding over to Archer, who lay on 
the deck, I pulled and hauled at him, 
roaring out that one of the sick men had 
jumped overboard, and then rushed for- 
ward and looked over into the water in 
the place where the man had leapt, but 
saw nothing, not even a ripple. 

I turned and peered close at the man 
who lay on the forecastle, and discovered 
that the fellow who had jumped was the 
boatswain. I went again to the rail to 
look, and lifted a coil of rope from a pin, 
ready to fling the fakes to the man, should 
he rise. The moonlight was streaming 
along the ocean on this side of the ship, 
and now, when I leaned over the rail for the 
second time, I saw a figure close under the 
bows, I stared a minute or two ; the 
colour of the body blended with the gloom, 
yet the moonlight was upon him too, and 
then it was that after looking awhile, and 
observing the thing to lie motionless, I 
perceived that it was the body that had 
been upon the raft ! No doubt the ex- 

TBhittraMWAifflli by the sight 

~ \ 

j 9 8 


of the poisonous thing beheld in that light 
and under such conditions crazed me, I 
have a recollection of laughing wildly, and 
of defying the dark floating shape in insane 
language. I remember that I shook my 
fist and spat at it, and that I turned to 
seek for something to hurl at the body, 
and it may have been that in the instant 
of turning my senses left me, for after this 
I can recall no more. 

The sequel to 
this tragic and 
experience will 
be found in the 
following state- 
ment j made by 
the people of the 
ship Forfnr- 
shire, from Cal- 
cutta to Liver- 
pool: — " August 
2g T 1857. When 
in latitude 2°i5' 
N, and longi- 

tude 79 40' E* 
sighted a barque under 
all plain sail, apparently 
abandoned. The breeze 
was very scanty, and 

though we immediately 
shifted our helm for 
her on judging that 
*he was in distress, it 
took us all the morn- 
ing to approach her 
within hailing distance. 
Everything looked 
right with her aloft, 
but the wheel was de- 
serted, and there were 
no signs of anything 
living in her. We sent 
a boat in charge of 
the second officer, who 
returned and informed 
us that the barque was 
th e Justitia f of Lon d o 1 1 ♦ 
We knew that she was 
from Calcutta, for we 
had seen her lying in 
the river. The second 
officer stated that there 
bodies aboard r one in a 
forecastle, a second on a 

were three 





forecastle, and a third against the coamings 
of the main-hatch j there was also a fourth 
man lying at the heel of the port cathead — 
he did not seem to be dead. On this Dr. 
Davison was requested to visit the barque, 
and he was put aboard by the second officer* 
He returned quickly with one of the men, 
whom he instantly ordered to be stripped 
and put into a warm bath, and his clothes 
thrown overboard. He said that the dead 

showed unmis- 
takable signs of 
having died from 
cholera. We pro- 
ceeded, not deem- 
ing it prudent to 
have anything 
further to do with 
the ill fated craft. 
The person we 
had rescued re- 
mained insensible 
for two days ; his 
recovery was then 
slow f but sure, 
thanks to the 
skilful treatment 
of Dr. Davison. 
He informed us 
that his name was 
Thomas Barron, 
and that he was 
a passenger on 
board the Jus titt a 
for Cape Town, 
He was the tra- 
velling represen- 
tative of a large 
firm. The barque 
had on the pre- 
ceding Friday 
week fal Ifn in 
with a raft bear- 
ing a dead body. 
A boat was sent 
to bring away a 
parcel from the 
raft's mast, and 
it is supposed that 
the contents of 
the parcel com- 
municated the 
cholera. There were fifteen souls when 
the vessel left Calcutta, and all perished 
except the passenger, Thomas Barron*" 



Original from 

Grandfathers Picture-Books* 

N considering the picture-books 
belonging to the grandfathers 
of the young and old among 
us, we are much indebted to 
Messrs. Field and Tuer for 
permission to reproduce a 
number of examples from their *' 1,000 
Quaint Cuts from Books of Other Days- 1 * 

Here, to begin with, is a set of pictures 
illustrating the marvellous history of 
Tom Thumb. First there is a very re- 
spectable cut representing that critical 
moment of the hero's history when he 
was taken up in a mouthful of grass by 
a cow. Then we have him astride of his 


faithful butterfly, sailing gaily over houses, 
fields and trees. Comparing the butterfly 
with the adjacent tree, it would seem to be 
about as big as a large crocodile, with wings 
rather larger than a church door/ Then 
we have the furmety bowl accident. It is 
pleasing to observe, in this picture, the 
architecture of the period of King Arthur, 


according to the artist- Rows of brick 
houses, with severely rectangular doors and 
windows, appear to have been in fashion, 
while a magnified bedpost stood at the head 

of a flight of steps. In the fourth picture 
we have the last sad adventure, when the 
deadly breath of the wicked spider put an 
end to the doughty deeds, the butterflyings, 
and the paste -wallowing* of good Sir 
Thomas. Observe the terrifying expression 
of the spider's face (he is a rare kind 
of spider, by the bye, with a monkey's 
head), and the extraordinary action whereby 
he essays * 4 cm one," which Sir Thomas is 
to receive on his shield. A spider who can 
go through the broadsword exercise is as 
great a wonder as Sir Thomas himself. 
^ Next we have Jack the Giant Killer, 
From the first cut grandfather gathered his 


ideas as to how the first of Jack's famous 
exploits— that with Cor mora n — was accom- 
plished. Observe the dark lantern in the 
corner — quite up to date, you see, although 
Jack was, like Sir Thomas, a contempor- 
ary of King Arthur. Then we have Jack 
tackling Blunder bore and his brother, stran- 
gling them with a rope tied to his window 


^-* 7 "1 1 ^ j?-- 

1 JV: »^^™. 


Z_j* ~" *^ *r 


frame, trampling all over their heads and 
shoulders and cutting off their heads like 
anything, while they lean limply on their 

d ^NfflMTT"fl™eftfflMi us al1 about 



the Welsh Giant. First he is pounding which the giant's nationality is suggested, 

away (quite reckless of his own bed-linen) by a leek tastefully worn in the hain In 

at the supposed Jack, who is represented in the last two pictures Jack appears in his 

the story by a billet of wood, and in the invisible cloak, and everybody must admire 


picture by what looks like a school bell-tower, 
or a patent chimney-pot. With so much 
light in the room as the picture shows, how- 
ever, the giant must have had a good deal 
of cold tea for supper to mistake the chim- 
ney-pot for Jack, or to fail to notice that 
artful person standing in the lightest corner. 


Next the wicked Welsh Giant is commit- 
ting involuntary suicide in his rash attempt 
to play M follow -my -leader " in the porridge* 
bag trick. That long white thing hanging 
out of the hole in the giant's waistcoat is 
not his shirt, as might be supposed, but 


blood, which seems to have frozen into a 
tall heap. Note, too, th^ delicate way in 

Digilizec iby \jCTOQK* 


the boldness with which the artist has 
grappled with the difficulty of representing 
a man made invisible in a picture. The 
recipe is a simple one — draw him rather 
larger than usual, more clearly f and blacker ; 
especially make the invisible cloak as black 
and as visible as possible, and there you 


are. In the last of these pictures, Jack is 
slashing off the nose of one of his cus- 
tomers* It is a very fine and large nose T of 
the sort that you buy for a penny at a fair. 
The giant appears to be making a wild 
attempt to catch it, although that would 


seem scarcely wise t for he certainly looks a 
deal handsomer without it- 




Here is rather an earlier picture, from a 
book of nursery rhymes. The legend runs 
Oh dear ! what can the matter be ? 
Two little boy a are up in the apple tree ! 

Which probably contains a great deal of 
reason, since there is so little rhyme* It 



is a beautiful apple tree t and it would seem 
very wrong to disturb all those symmetrical 
apples, growing so regularly in order, each 
in its proper place. However, the grave 
young gentlemen in tail-coats and knee- 
breeches are careful to preserve the general 
regularity of the scene by shaking off all 
the apples uniformly with the stalks up- 

This picture, of a not very well fed gen- 
tleman riding a not very well fed horse 
past a sign-post with nothing on it, appears 
over the famous couplet 

Ride a cock-horse 
To Ban bury -cross. 

We print it here chiefly as throwing 
some light upon the interesting question as 
to exactly what species of animal a M cock- 
horse 11 is. It may be as well to mention 
that in the first of the Tom Thumb pictures, 
already referred to, the quadruped there 
depicted is by many supposed to be a hen 

The two little boys, who are represented 
in another book as playing shuttlecock near 
a precipice and a flower-pot, are delightful 
specimens of the sort of boy familiar in the 
pages of old goody-goody books, with frilled 
collars, and puffy trousers buttoned on to 
very short jackets. They haven't a great 


deal of room for their game, what with the 
precipice and the flower-pot, and a beehive, 
about the size of a decent cottage, close 
against one player's back. That boy is 
really in a dangerous position. It would be 
so easy accidentally to hit the hive, where- 
upon there would probably ensue a sally of 
infuriated bees about the size of pigeons 
(judging from the hive), who would set upon, 
murder, sting and devour boys, battle- 
dores, flower-pot, precipice and alk 

From another of grandfather's pic- 
ture-books comes a series of spirited 
pictures setting forth certain awful ex- 
amples of children who meddled with 
fire. There is a sameness about these 
instructive catastrophes* as well as a 
certain want of preliminary detail. 
Boy with frilled collar and his trousers 
on fire throws up his arms before fire- 
place and shouts. Little girl with 
dress on fire throws up her arms in 
front of fireplace and shouts. An- 



ditto in front of ditto 
and dittoes. Small 
child (sex uncertain) 
with a cheerful fire 
in nightshirt shouts 
in front of fireplace 
and throws up arms. 
The girts (assuming 
it to be a boy in the 
n ightsh irt) are the 
more clearly distin- 
guished by the addition 
in each case of a 
woman with white 
apron, nu;b cap, 
and outstretched 
arms, and a kettle 
on the hob — "em- 
bellishments denied 
to the boys, who 
have to take their 
chance as best they 
can with two fen- 
ders, a set of fire- 
irons, and a wooden 
chair between 
them. The simi- 
larity of the two 
girls 1 adventures is 
relieved slightly by 
the introduction in 
one case of a cat 
with stiff legs, 
galloping, with 
much prudence, 
away from the 
disaster. But there 
is a complete and 
irredeemable uni- 
formity about the 
whole set in one 
respect — there is 
no suggested cause 
for the accidents, 
unless the boys and 
girls have deliber- 
ately shoved their 
clothes into the fire, 
in order to make 
an instructive 
warning for grand- 
father's picture- 
book. It is notice- 
able that the artist 
has had some diffi- 
culty in setting fire 
to the first boy's 
trousers with a 
proper and natural 





effect, owing to the 
awkwardness of the 
garments for the pur- 
pose, The girls' skirts 
are infinitely better 
suited to the experi- 
ment. The title to 
the series of pictures 
is spread out among 
them, and ends with 
the substitution of a 
significant hieroglyphic 
for the word "ire," 
consisting of cer- 
tain very fierce 
.flames in a setting 
of very solid smoke, 
arising from the 
combustion bf 
nothing whatever. 
We have already 
mentioned the 
goody-goody books 
of grandfather's 
time, with their 
solemn pictures of 
virtuous elders in 
high coat - collars 
and swallow- tails, 
and more ot less 
virtuous youths in 
concertina hats and 
puffy white trou- 
sers The adven- 
tures of Tommy 
Merton, Harry 
Sandford, and the 
respectable Mr. 
Barlow in the many 
editions in which 
the book w T as print- 
ed, were the occa- 
sion of many such 
pictures, and the 
first half of this 
century was greatly 
distinguished by 
the immense num- 
ber of serious little 
books issued with 
cuts wherein blame- 
less and omniscient 
tutors lectured 
solemn little boys 
on things in 
general. Here is a 
cut from one of 
these, wherein the 
worthy tutor, whose 





thighbone extends down two-thirds of his 
leg, points to a very sol id- looking speckled 
rainbow with one hand, and with the other 
urges forward his pupil to make a closer 

Then we have a picture of a scene on the 
ice, whereon one boy has come a cropper. 
Now, the identity of that boy is rather 
doubtful. He can scarcely be the good boy 
who wouldn't play truant to go and slide, 
or he wouldn't have come a cropper, even 


had he been on the ice at all. On the other 
hand, he can't be the bad boy who insisted 
on doing these wicked things, or he would 
have fallen clean through the ice and been 
drowned. Perhaps he is a reformed bad 
boy who came on the ice to warn the 
others. This seems more likely, since he 
appears to have only one leg ; he probably 
lost the other through climbing after birds' 
nests on Sunday, or something of that sort, 
and then reformed. One can't get much 
fun, you know, with only one leg left, so 
may as well reform as noL 

In the early days an artist often had to 
draw a thing which he had never seen. We 

have here the effort 
of one of these gen- 
tlemen who evi- 
dently had never 
seen an elephant, 
and built the face 
up as well as he 
could from a human 
standpoint, with the 
We won't be personal, 


but we believe we have seen a portrait very 
like this in some of the papers* 

We have, in the next picture, an oppor- 
tunity of inspecting the interior of a boys' 
school of the last century end. Note the 
little three-cornered hats hung above the 
scholars' heads, and the portentous array 
of heavy books over the head of the learned 
master, in his wig and gown. He opens 
his palm as though for the benefit of a ^mall 
boy's ears, but, as there is no small boy 
sufficiently near it, perhaps he is only in- 
dulging in the pleasures of anticipation, 
The view from the window is particularly 

trunk on the chin. 

interesting. The three regular sugar-Ioat 
trees , of the herrirg-bone species, growing 
exactly to the same height, and each exactly 
filling the width of one window-pane in the 
vision, without encroaching upon the 
others, offer a beautiful lesson in order and 
harmony among neighbours, 

A specimen of quite a different class is 
seen in the representation of Polyphemus, 
at the entrance to his cave, with cloak, staff, 
and Pandean pipes. The bold, free draw- 
ing of the King of the Cyclops is of the 
school of Blake, but there *re points in the 



execution which diminish the probability of 
of its being Blake's actual work. 

A contrast to this is seen in the queer 
little cut in which a woman is either dry- 
ing the tears of a little girl or punching her 
in the eye. It is from one of the goody 
books, and the absence of much of the right 
side of the girl's face seems rather to point 
to punching than tear drying. 


Another queer little wood-cut is a mere 
copy of an inn sign, which was rather 
popular in old days — the (l Bull and 

Mouth/ 1 It is a very magnificent mouth, 
at which the bull appears rather scared, as 
well he may. He seems to be considering 
the advisability of going in, but doesn't feel 
quite safe in venturing. This is one of the 
instances of the cor* 
ruption of the title 
of an older sign* 
Originally it was the 
u Boulogne Mouth, fT 
and referred to the 
mouth of Boulogne 
Harbour, being 
adopted as an inn 
sign in commemora- 
tion of the taking of Boulogne in the reign 
of Henry VIII. The "Goat and Conv 
passes'' (originally "God Encompasses 
Us ") is a similar case. 

One woodcut from grandfather's picture- 
book {or was this from grandmother's ?) 
gives us some information about the inside 
of a shop in the days when ladies wore 
their waists just under their armpits, The 
polite shopman, in a wig, shows a piece of 
ribbon to the two ladies in big bonnets. 
The transaction is a very similar one to 



those of to-day, but we get a glimpse of the 
old square- paned shop window ; and the 
cut is rather crude and quaint. 

There was a device in some of these 
picture-books of dividing a space into little 
squares, and filling each of these little 
squares with a representation of some 
object, with its name printed over it. The 
intention, of course r was instruction — the 
little grandfather would become familiar 

wit fi f i^wM.^tof?af while le * rn - 



ing to spell the name ; a sort of early 
kindergarten lesson, in fact* Here is a 
block of a dozen such little squares, with 
the illustrations all very clear and un- 
mistakable, except the oyster, which looks 
rather like a tortoise (but might be a 
hedgehog), and Job, who might be Pontius 
Pilate or Nebuchadnezzar. It is to be 
observed that over Job's head a crown is 
placed , so that something is done to com- 
pensate him for his troubles, even in grand- 
father^ picture book. The temple is evi- 
dently intended for Dr. Parker's on the 
Viaduct before the tower was built, and the 
side spaces are filled in with trees in order 
to avoid advertising the adjoining establish- 
ments* Next door to the temple is a very 











fine trumpet, with a hearthrug hanging on 
it, and just below the trumpet is a hat, of 
the fashion worn by grandfather's father. 
A bow i* generously thrown in with the 
violin, although not in the specification, 
and the relative proportions of the different 
objects are striking* Thus the moth is a 
great deal bigger than the temple, and the 
oyster is as large as Job's head, 

The li Cries of London " were favourite 
subjects with the compilers of these books. 
We reproduce a cut of a gingerbread 
seller, Gingerbread, by the bye T seems to 
have become quite a thing of the past, and 
nothing remains to us of it but these pic- 
tures, and the proverb about rubbing the 
gilt off it. This particular cut is actually 
a portrait — a portrait of the most famous 

'TIDDV'BOIL — TltE G ING fc fi- 

of all the ginger- 
bread sellers, 
"Tiddy-doll/ T He 
ts represented in 
Hogarth's print of 
the execution of 
the u Idle Appren- 
tice," selling gin- 
gerbread to the 
crowd. He was a 
great character in 
his way, and dress* 
ed tremendously 
in gold -laced 
clothes of a very 
fine sort ; so that, 
fellow, and tall, he 
Nobody knew 

being a handsome old 

attracted notice everywhere, 
his name, and he had that of ** Tiddy-doll " 
from the song-burden with which he inter- 
spersed his patter, thus : " Mary, Mary, 
where are you now } Mary ? I live, when at 


home, at the second house in Little Ball- 
street, two steps underground, with a wiskum 
riskum, and a why- not. My shop is on the 
second floor back, with a brass knocker at 

the door. Here's 
your nice ginger- 
bread, your spice 
gingerbread, all 
ready to melt in 
your mouth like 
a red-hot brick- 
bat. Ti-tiddy ti- 
ti, ti-tiddy ti-ti, ti- 
tiddy ti-ti, tiddy 
doll-loll," His 
nickname has sur- 
vived to the pre- 
sent day in the 

iter -*- 



sion, M YouVe quite tiddy-doll," or u Tiddy- 
fol-loll, ,t addressed to a brilliantly attired 

The lady with cucumbers on 
a barrow was in variably present 
in these H cries.'* Here the 
cucumbers might very well be 
oysters, or sausages, or anything 
else. The knife-grinder is even 
more interesting. His machine 
is of a kind quite unknown to 
mortal eye nowadays. One 
doesn't quite see how the grind- 
stone is driven, or, indeed, quite 
where the grindstone is, but no 
doubt it is all right, or I he 
worthy tradesman wouldn't look 
so happy. 

Anybody who is doubtful as 
to the exact appearance of a hob- 
goblin, a witch, or a fairy may 
be satisfied by a glance at the next three swinging 

however, to learn that a witch has to whip 
her broomstick to make it go ; and one 
wonders why a flying cat has any need for 


a great besom about in the air, 
The moon is in eclipse* as is 
proper at times of witchery, but 
the stars are all right, and, if any- 
thing, rather bigger than usual. 
One often hears theatrical people 
speak of a "thin house*" The 
house on the right-hand side of 
the picture appears to be one of 

The fairies are rather better 
dressed than one might expect. 
Frock coats and breeches are 
really quite respectable, The 
lad its wear steeple-crowned hats 
atid laced bodices, which leads to 

the supposition 
Welsh fairies. 


blocks. When a hobgoblin wishes bo attend 
to bis correspondence, he doesn't 
sit before a tabic in the ordinary 
way, but \\w> a hole made in the 
table and hangs his legs through 
it. This is simple and economi- 
cal, although it would seem to 
be a little awkward, particularly 
with a table having only two 
legs. Most of the hobgoblins 
appear to be fitted out with 
every convenience for personal 

enjoyment, including wings, tails, 
stings, &&, although one unfor- 
tunate has to be content with a 
very large head and a fowl's legs 
and no trunk or arms. 

The witches arc quite conven- 
tional. It is a little surprising, 

Digitized by CjO 

thit they are 
A convenient 
door is neatly let into an adjoin- 
ing mole-hill for the fairies to go in and out 

u I I I ■_' I I I 




of, and a toadstool stands handy for refresh- 
ments between the dances, The moon 
seems , on the whole, rather astonished, 


which is really quite excusable in the 

We have found a delightful study 
of animals — apparently cows and 
calves in a shed. Observe their 
piercing eyes, all turned upon the 
astonished spectator. This may 
mean fury, or it imy mean blind- 
ness, or something else, but it looks 
most like hunger. The shed is built 
upon the trunks of four trees which 
have failed in their legitimate 
business, after growing, with great 
consideration, exactly at the four 
corners of a rectangle. Only the 
roof arid two sides of the building 
have been built (what of is doubt- 
ful), in order that the stock may 
stare at ih from the other sides. 

Of course, some of grandfather's 
picture-books were books of fables 

— y£sop*s, and translations and abridgments 
of La Fontaine's. We are able to find room 
for two illustrations from one of these 
books. First we have u Hercules and 
^- the Waggoner/' Three rather small 
horses, driven tandem fashion, have 
ggS succeeded in fixing a very long, low- 
*S tilted waggon in a ditch. The wag- 
goner, who may possibly be completely 
dressed, and wearing a smock, but 
whose costume looks uncommonly 
like a shirt and nothing else, calls on 
Hercules to overcome the difficulty for 
him j although presumably there must 
be people at hand in the very extra- 
ordinary houses just over the bridge, 
Hercules, who doesn't look quite so 
well as when we last saw him, and is 
cir- reduced to a most insignificant club, appears 


on one of those feather-bed clouds 
usually employed on similar occa- 
sions. To speak more exactly, he 
appears to be slipping off, and 
threatening serious damage to the 
roof just below him. Hercules, it 
will be observed, was a very large 
person f as one might expecL 

Then there is the shepherd boy 
who cried "Wolf!" There are 
four animals in the picture, and 
anybody can see at once which is 
the wolf, because he is biting the 
countenance of one of the others, 
which lies on the ground ; other- 
wi e it would be difficult. The 
shepherd seems to be rather en- 
joying the fun, to judge by the 
gratified look on his face, and the 
gladsome expressions of his legs 




and arms as he hops cheerfully in the left- 
hand corner* Baronial castles and moun- 
tains, assorted, make an effective back- 

Our little collec- 
tion would scarcely 
be complete without 
something represen- 
tative of the legend 
of Jackand the Beau- 
stalk. One of the old 
books yields us a very 
instructive picture^ 
wherein we learn 
many things, First, 
that the beanstalk 
was about ten feet 
high at most ; this 
judging by the height 
of Jack's mother, who 
is coining after htm 
with a broom and a 
dog in a highly 
vigorous and gym- 
nastic manner, with- 
out stopping to open 
the garden-gate. The 
castle at the top of 
the stalk, too, would 
seem to have been 
about the size of a 
fairly large mantel- 
piece clock, and the 
giant — who could almost go into Jack's 
pocket — looks uncommonly like the little 
weather-prophet who pops out of the old- 
fashioned barometer. All this, however, 
may be intended as an effort 
to conform to the rules of 
perspective ; but still, one 
would like to know a little 
more about the internal 
arrangements of that cot* 
tage. Consider it. The 


head of the front door reaches to the 
eaves t and is then none too high for the 
passage of Jack's energetic parent Still, 

by cutting a piece 
out of the thatch a 
window is provided to 
light an upper floor ; 
an upper floor about 
a foot or so high, and 
barely big enough, it 
would seem, to accom- 
modate that insigni- 
ficant giant of the 
castle. If that large 
black thing at the 
foot of the stalk be 
one of the five seeds, 
one need wonder no 
longer at the size of 
the plant, but at the 
ability of Jack to 
carry the seeds home. 
Finally, as a tail- 

&iece T we print 
bah's Ark as it ap- 
peared in grand- 
father's picture-book. 
It appears, as nearly 
as ascertainable from 
the portholes, to have 
been about a twenty- 
eight-gun ship, exclu- 
sive of bow and stern 
chasers, of which there are no clear in- 
dications. The upper part, it will be ob- 
served, consisted of a neat cricket pavilion. 
Grandfather's picture-book amused and 
taught many good men in 
their childhood. Perhaps 
the few fragments of it 
which are here presented 
may not altogether fail in 
one of these objects to- 


by Google 

Original from 


A Story for Children, from the 

HE King of Terra Longa had 
an only son, who was the 
apple of his eye, and on 
whom he built all his hopes. 
He felt he was growing an 
old man, and the great de- 
sire of his life was to see his son happily 
married before he died, But, unfor- 
tunately, the young Prince was of a 
very different mind, and if a woman was 
as much as mentioned in his presence, he 
got up and left the room, and refused to 
come back till the conversation had turned 
on some other subject. 

Neither his father's tears and entreaties, 
nor the counsel and advice of the states- 
men and courtiers round the King's throne, 
would make him consider the subject of 
matrimony. But nothing happens so often 
as the unexpected, and a mere trifle will 
change the history of nations. One day, 
as the Prince was cutting a cream tart in 
half and attending more to the conversation 
that was going on than to what he was 
doing t he cut his finger with his knife. 

The blood spurted out and fell on the 
cream, and the mixture of colour was so 
beautiful that the Prince was seized on the 

Digitized by GoOglc 

with the desire to find a 
with a complexion like the 
m and blocxl. He said to 
the King : li Dear father, if I do 
not find a bride who is red and 
white like this, then it is all over with me. 
Hitherto no woman has ever caused my 
heart a single flutter, but new I long for 
this red and white maiden, as I have never 
longed for anything in my life before. 
Permit me, therefore, to go in search of my 
ideal, for if I do not find her I shall die." 

At first his father was much startled and 
grieved at his words, and tried hard to 
dissuade his son from setting out on such a 
futile journey, but when he saw that his 
remonstrances were of no avail, and that he 
might as well have spoken to the winds, he 
said : " Go, my son, since your heart is so 
set on the journey ; take money and what- 
ever else you desire with you, and hasten 
back with all speed to your poor father, 
who will be disconsolate till you return," 

So the Prince set out on his travels, and 

wandered through fields and woods, over 

mountains and through valleys, visiting 

different countries and nations, always 

keeping his eyes open for the maiden of his 

dreams. But he sought in vain, for though 

he left no stone unturned, nowhere could 

he find the blooming image he had painted 

in his mind's eye. From kingdom to 

kingdom he roamed, and at last he came 

to the Island of the Wild Women. 

Here he met an old dame who was as 
Original from 




thin as a scarecrow, and with the ugliest 
face he had ever seen. The Prince told 
her at once what brought him to the 
island , and when the old woman had heard 
his tale, and all the dangers and sufferings 
he had gone through, her heart melted 
with pity, and she said : "My son, let me 
warn you to fly from hence with all speed, 
for if my three daughters , who live on 
human flesh, find you here, you are a lost 
man. They will certainly eat you raw, or 
roast you for their next meal. Make haste 
to leave this place as quickly as you can, 
and I promise you won't be gone far before 
you meet your fate." 

When the Prince heard her words he 
took to hi* heels, and, without as much as 
bidding the old creature farewell, he ran 
without stopping till he came to a different 
country, where he met another old woman 
even uglier than the first. To her, too, he 
confided the history and 
object of his wander- 
ings, but she answered 
him as the other had 
done : " You had better 
make haste to get away 
from here, unless you 
wish to provide my 
daughters, the little man- 
eaters, with a meal ; but 
not far from this spot 
you will meet your fate.-* 

As soon as the poor 
Prince heard her word;, 
he set off running at full 
speed, and didn't pause 
for a moment till he 
came upon another old 
woman, who was sitting 
under a tree with a 
basket on her arm full of 
cakes and other dainties. 

The Prince made her 
a polite bow, and com- 
menced at once to tell 
her his story. This time 
the old woman comforted 
him with friendly words, 
and made him sit down 
and eat a good breakfast. 
When he had finished 
his meal, she presented 
him with three lemons, 
which looked as if they 
had just been cut from the tree, and along 
with the fruit a beautiful knife, saying, as 
she gave them to him t " You may go home 
now as fast as you like, for you have got 

what you sought ; when you aTe close to 
your father's kingdom, stop at the first well 
you come to, and cut one ot the lemons 
in half ; a fairy will come out of it, and 
say to you, * Give me something to drink/ 
Then you must get her some water as 
quickly as you can, for if you don't she will 
disappear like quicksilver, and if you don't 
succeed with the first or second^ you must 
be suTe not to let the third fairy escape, but 
hand her the water in a moment, for she is 
the wife of your heart's desire/' 

The Prince joyfully kissed her hairy old 
hand, which felt exactly like the back of a 
porcupine, and thanking the old dame 
heartily for her kindness, he bade her fare- 
well, and left the country with all speed. 
After many dangers by sea and land, he 
arrived safely about a day's journey from 
his own kingdom. Hereon a lovely heath, 
shaded by beautiful old trees, the Prince 


dismounted at a well, the running of whose 
crystal waters sounded like a bell, calling 
people to come and refresh themselves. 

T ^#/fe?TYbf^i?i^.^f r P ct forraed of 





tender green grass and lovely coloured 
flowers, and f taking the knife out of its 
sheath, he cut the first lemon open. In a 
moment, like a flash of lightning, a beauti- 
ful girl stood before him, as white as milk 
and as red as a strawberry, and she said to 
him, " Give me something to drink/ 1 

The Prince, quite dazzled and bewildered 
by the beauty of the fairy, did not give 
her the water quickly enough, and to his 
great grief she vanished almost as soon as 
she had appeared. 

The same thing happened when he cut 
the second lemon open, and the Prince 
exclaimed in despair, u I am the most 
unlucky creature in the world* 
Twice have I let my luck escape 
me — but courage ! I have still a 
third chance, and there is luck in odd 
numbers : this knife shall either 
be the means of securing 
my happiness, or it shall 
put an end to my griefs." 

With these words he cut 
the third lemon 
open, and out 
stepped the third 
fairy, and said, as 
the others had 
done, " Give me 
s o m e t h i n g to 

This time the 
Prince handed the 
fairy a glass of 
water as quick as 
lightning; and in a 
moment a lovely 
girl stood before 
him, as white as 
cream and as red 
as blood. Her hair 
was golden, her 
mouth like a rose- 
bud, and her eye* 
shone like two 
stars. In one word, 
she was as beauti- 
ful as the day, and 
she looked as good 
as she was beauti- 
ful, and as charm- 
ing as she was 
good, The Prince 
could not contain 
his admiration, and said : 4t Am I asleep or 
awake, or are my eyes bewitched ; for how can 
sujh a lovely creature have been contained 
in the bitter rind of this yellow lemon ? " 

But when he had at last convinced him* 
self that the beautiful apparition before him 
was no dream j but sober reality, he kissed 
the fairy tenderly, and said many charming 
things to her, He begged her to be his 
wife. u But/ 1 he said, *' I will not take you 
back to my father's kingdom without the 
splendour worthy of your beauty, or with- 
out the escort fitting for my queen. There- 
fore, let me beg of you to remain in the 
meantime in the hollow of this leafy oak T 
which looks as if it had been ,nade for a 
hiding place* and there await my return. 
You may be sure I will come back to you 
as quickly as I can, and will then lead you 

to my kingdom 
with the retinue 
and following that 
befits your posi- 


, and so say- 
he bade his 




* beautiful bride 
farewell, and set 
forth on his jour- 

When he had 
gone, the fairy 
climbed up into one of 
the forks of the tree, and 
from there watched all 
that was going on around 
her. Before many minutes 
had passed a black slave 
girl arrived at the well 
with a pitcher for water. 
She was just going to 
dip the jug in the waves, 
when she perceived the 
face of the fairy reflected 
in the water, and, think* 
ing it was her own reflec- 
tion she saw, she started 
back with a cry of sur- 
prise, exclaiming at the 
same time, u What, tin- 
happy Lucia, you are as beautiful as 
all that, and yet your mistress sends you 
to the well to get water, and you submit 
to her conduct ? ?l 

With these words she broke the jug, 
and returned home. But when her 
mistress asked her why she had not 
done her duty she replied, i4 I went to 
- the well, and broke the pitcher by mis- 
take against a big stone/ 
The woman restrained her anger as well 
as she could, and on the following day gave 
the girl a beautiful chin:?, jug, and told her 

to so L^K^ji^bpniJcWj^j with water - 



But when she came to the well, and once 
more saw the lovely reflection there, she 
heaved a deep sigh and said, u I will no 
longer be a slave> for I am not ugly as I 
have always thought I was ; on the con- 
trary, I am lovely and charming, and it is 
ridiculous that I should be made to fetch 
water from the well! " With these words 
she broke the jug into a hundred pieces, 
and when she got home she told her mistress 
that a donkey had passed by, and had kicked 
the jug and /oken it to pieces. 

When the woman heard about this fresh 
accident she lost her temper, and, seizing a 
broom, she beat the girl to within an inch 
of her life, then handing her a leather bottle 
she said, "Now go as quickly as you can, 
you useless creature, and bring me back 
the bottle full of water. Don't dawdle on 
the way, and if anything happens this time, 

said, l( What are you doing up there, my 
beautiful maid ? Tl 

The fairy, who was politeness itself, told 
the black girl everything there was to tell 
and ended up by saying she was going to 
marry a charming prince, and was only 
awaiting his return with a suitable escort 
and retinue to accompany him to his 
father's kingdom. 

When the black slave heard this, a 
w r icked plan entered into her head, and she 
said : ** Oh, if you are expecting your bride- 
groom's return, let me come up beside you, 
and comb your locks in order to make you 
even fairer than you are," 

The fairy answered ; " You are most 
welcome to come, 1T and stretched down her 
hand, which looked like a piece of crystal 
set in ebony, as she helped the slave up. 
As soon as the black creature began to 

I'll give you another beating that you won't comb the fairy's hair ^he stuck her hairpin 

forget in a hurry." 

The slave-girl ran w T ith 
all her might back to the 
well and filled the bottle 
full of water, but once 
more catching sight of the 
lovely reflection, she said, 
u I would be a fool to go 
on drawing water ; it 
would be far better and 
more fitting that I should 
marry, From this moment 
I refuse to serve my mis- 
tress any longer." With 
these words she took a pin 
that she wore in her hair 
and pierced the leather 
bottle with it, so that it 
became exactly like a 
fountain, with the w r ater 
spurting out in every 
direction. Here the fairy, 
who had been watching 
the black girl's ridiculous 
behaviour, could contain 
her mirth no longer, and 
burst into a hearty 

When the slave heard 
the sound of laughter she 
looked to see where it 
came from, and, when she 
caught sight of the girl 
hidden in the tree, she 
said to herself, " So you 
of my mistress nearly beating me to death, 
are you ? but wait a little, and I'll be 
even with you yet; 1 ' but to the fairy she 


arc the cause 

into her skull, hoping in this way she 
would kill her on the spot. 
But as soon as the fairy 
felt the prick of the pin f 
she called out " Dove f 
dove ! 5T and in a moment 
she w r as changed into a 
dove, and flew away right 
up into the sky* 

When the Prince re- 
turned with his suite and 
train t he could hardly 
believe his eyes w r hen he 
beheld , instead of the 
lovely maid he had left 
behind in the hollow of 
the tree, the form of the 
ugly black slave girl. 

But when the wicked 
creature perceived the 
Prince's distress and 
amazement she said: 
" Don't be surprised, dear 
Prince, for it is I, your 
Lucia, but I have been 
bewitched by an evil ma- 
gician, and turned from a 
fair and lovely maiden 
into the ugly black marble 
statue you see before 

The poor Prince, not 
knowing how to help him- 
self, made the be=t of a 
bad business, and after the black girl had 
got down from the tree, he had her dressed 
in the splendid clothes he had brought with 

hii«lWEhftlV»MI^(3«?» n &he had been 



made to look as well as she could, he set 
forth with her to meet the King and Queen, 
who were to meet the young couple a few 
miles from their home. 

When his father and mother perceived the 
folly their son had committed! and how that 
he who had travelled so far in search of a 
white dove had only returned with a black 
crow, they could hardly restrain their dis- 
gust and disappointment, But, seeing the 
thing was done, and that there was no help 
for it, they abandoned their throne to the 
young couple, and a gold crown wa*s placed 
on the slave's woolly head. The wedding 
was held with much pomp and ceremony, 
and everyone far and wide was invited to 
the feasL 

Now it happened that while the King's 
cook was preparing all the dainty dishes 
for the wedding banquet a beautiful dove 

wrung its neck, and, when he had plucked 
its feathers, he threw them out of the 
kitchen window. A few days afterwards, 
on the spot where the feathers had been 
thrown, a beautiful lemon tree sprang up, 
which grew and blossomed as you looked 
at it. 

Now it happened one day that the King 
was looking out of his window, and saw the 
tree, which he never remembered to have 
noticed before. He immediately called the 
cook before him, and asked him when and 
by whom the tree had been planted. When 
he had heard the whole story from the 
chief cook, he gave orders that no one, 
under pain of death, should touch the tree, 
and that it should be tended and watered 
carefully every day. 

In a very short time three lemons ap- 
peared on the tree exactly the same as those 
the old woman had given the Prince, and 
he had them plucked at once and brought 
to his room. Here he shut himself up with 



flew in at the kitchen window, and said — 

"Tell me, cook, oh 1 tell me true, 
What do the King and his black bride do ? " 

At first the cook paid no attention to the 
words of the bird ; but when the dove had 
repeated them a second and a third time, 
he ran into the banqueting hall, and told 
the assembled company what the bird had 
said. When the bride heard the words of 
the dove's song, she ordered the bird to be 
caught on the spot and roasted, The cook 
did as he was told, seized the bird, and 

a tumbler full of water, and with the same 
knife that he had used before, and which 
he always wore at his side, he began to cut 
the lemons in half. As before, the first and 
second fairy escaped him ; but when he 
had cut the third lemon open, and given 
the fairy some water to drink, as she re* 
quested, she changed into the beautiful 
girl whom he had left behind in the hollow 
of the tree, and from her he learnt the 
whole history of the black slave's mis- 




The King's joy was beyond words at this 
new stroke of fortune, and he could hardly 
realise that his bride was really the beauti- 
ful girl who stood before him t and not the 
ugly black creature who had deceived him 
so wickedly. After he had dressed her in 
the most costly garments, and kissed her 
tenderly, he took his fairy bride by the 
hand j and led her into the throne-room, 
where all the Court were assembled. Then 
the King addressed his courtiers, and said : 
"Tell me, all of you, 
what punishment 
docs the person de- 
serve who has ill-, 
treated this beautiful 
ladj- ? ■' Whereupon 
one replied, u They 
deserve a breakfast 
of stones u ; another, 
" A draught of poi- 
son^; and a third 
said, u They should 
be rolled down a hill 
in a barrel with sharp 
spikes inside it," 

At last the King 
called the black 
Queen to him, and - 
asked her what pun-" 
ish merit she would 

41 The wicked crea- 
ture," she answered, 
* 4 who could harm so 

fair a vision should be burnt to death, and 
her ashes scattered to the four winds.' 1 

When the King heard her words, he said : 
44 You have pronounced your own doom, 
for it was you, and no other, you vile 
wretch, who did my beautiful bride so 
much wrong, Know now that this is the 
lovely maid whose head you pierced with 
your hairpin, and she, too, was the beau- 
tiful dove you had so cruelly caught and 
roasted. But as you have done unto others, 

so it shall be done 
unto you, and as you 
showed no mercy, 
neither shall it be 
shown you/' 

With these words 
he had the black slave 
seized and thrown 
alive into a huge 
bonfire, and when she 
was burnt to ashes 
they were scattered 
to the four winds- 
from the top of a 
high watch-tower. 
But the King and his 
fair wife lived happily 
ever afterwards ; and 
if only you and I 
knew where to find 
the kingdom of Terra 
Longa, I believe we 
should find them, 
living there still. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things. 


JPREAKS of vegetables, especi- 
ally of turnips, radishes, 
par-nips, and the like, have 
probably been observed from 
lime to time by most people^ 
though very rarely in such 
distinct and striking forms as in these 
instances, which have been recorded in old 

The radish, which we give first, grew in a 
sandy soil at Haarlem, more than two hun- 
dred years ago, and was painted in fac- simile 
by Jacob Penoy, one of whose friends pre- 
sented the picture to Glandorp in the year 
1672. This picture was engraved by Kirby, 
showing the root exactly as we reproduce 

it here. Nor is this the only instance in 
which the root of a radish has taken this 
particular form ? as another, exactly re- 
sembling a human hand, with fingers and 
thumb complete, was possessed by Mr. 
Bisset, Secretary to the Birmingham 
Museum, in 1802. 

Our second illustration represents a 

Rirsnip, which also strikingly resembles a 
and, but in a different position, as it 
appears to be grasping another root. This 
oddity was sold by a market woman in the 
ordinary course of business, and was passed 
from hand to hand as a curiosity until it 
came into the possession of an engraver, 
who made the drawing of it which w 

with 1 

last of our illustrations is a turnip 
1 face, a plumed head-dress, body, 

arms, and a number of intertangled legs, 
like those of some sea-monster* " ending in 
snaky twine." This root grew in a garden 
in the village of Weiden, in Germany, in 
1628, the fact being recorded in the curious 
columns entitled " Miscellanea Academic 



If any of our readers should come across 
any u Vegetable Oddities " of this kind, we 
shall be pleased if they will send them to 
us for inspection, so that, if they are 
sufficiently curious, we may illustrate them 
in these pagfcsginal from 











h (^rkr*n Original from 




'^.•7v>7 .1 v%. ■ ^ ■ E ^^Hfc 

Tbe above illustration gives a most curious result of a locomotive boiler explosion in Norway some time 
*go, The two engines were standing end to end on the same pair of rails, when the boiler of one exploded, 
lifting it bodily in the air, at the same time turning it over, till it fell on the adjacent engine, as shown in 
sketch, which was taken from a photograph. 







: ,.f 

O \\ 





P.A L J ¥V n e. 






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to Her Majesty the Queen. 


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Manufacturing Jewellers' Co. 

1 to b, Pit ilord St.* Birmingham-- 



How a I*ot of Money Leaks Oat. 

rHAT does a man do when he finds 
a hole in the pocket where he 
carries his money ? Anybody can 
answer that question. He has it 
sewed up, of course, directly, and good and 
strong too. I suppose it is with you jttst as it 
is with me. When I spend money, even 
foolishly, I can tell where it went, and may be 
I've had some sort of pleasure out of it. But I 
do mortally hate to loose money ; lose it out 
and out, you know, and have no satisfaction from 
it, or know how or when it left my possession. 

Well now, let me show you the worst and 
biggest hole any man ever had in his pocket ; 
a hole that lets the cash leak away like water 
through a sieve, a hole that is the hardest in the 
world to sew up. A short story will show it 

" Drum more South Cottage, 

" Musselburgh, near Edinburgh, 
" September 16th, 1891. 
"Gentlemen, — Up to six years ago (1885) I 
was always strong and healthy. About this time 
I began to feel bad. I was tired, languid, dull 
and listless, and everything was a burden to me. 
I had no desire for company, and what had come 
over me I could not make out. My tongue and 
mouth were dry and I had a deal of phlegm on 
my stomach. The whites of my eyes next be- 
came discoloured and my skin was yellow. I 
had no appetite, and af:er eating I had great 
pain at my chest and sides, also across my 
stomach. After a time the pain settled in my 
left side, and my heart would beat and jump in 
a manner that alarmed me. By-and-by I got 
so weak that I was not able to go about the 
house, and I felt that 1 ought to be in bed. The 
pains at my side and stomach became so bad 
that I had to remove my clothing (everything 
seemed so tight), and I used to press my stomach 
and hold my sides to try and ease the pain. 
Getting worse I saw a doctor at Musselburgh 
and was under him for three months, but his 
medicine gave me no relief. After this I went 
to a clever doctor at Preston Pans who said I 
was suffering from indigestion and dyspepsia. 
He sent to London for some celebrated medicine 
which was packed in small phials. This 
medicine seemed to dissolve my food, and I 
felt easier for a time, but I gained no strength 
or real benefit, and after persevering with his 

treatment for six months, I gave it up and fell 
into my old state. I next went to a doctor at 
Musselburgh, but all his medicines did me no 
good. After this I saw another doctor (that is 
the fourth doctor), but with the same result ; 
none of them gave me anything that reached my 
complaint. I now lost all faith in physic, for I 
had spent a deal of money and taken so much 
medicine 'that I lost all my teeth through it' 
and was no better for it. In great misery I 
lingered on month after month, always ailing, 
when in August of last year (1890), my husband 
called at Mr. Jack's Drug stores, High Street, 
Fisherrow, and told him what my condition was. 
Mr. Jack gave him an account of the wonderful 
cures he heard of from many of his customers 
that had taken a medicine called SeigePs Syrup, 
and strongly recommended him to bring me a 
bottle. He did so, and I commenced taking 
the Syrup, and I found some relief from the 
first bottle, and by the time I had taken four 
bottles I was as well and strong as ever I was 
in my life and have since kept in good health. 
I tell everyone what SeigePs Syrup has done for 
me. • I never thought to get better again,' and 
I consider it has saved my life. I wish others 
to know this, and if by publishing this statement 
it will be the means of helping others, as it 
helped me, you can use this letter as you like. 
Yours truly, (Signed) Jemima Watson.' 
Look back to about the middle of the above 
letter and again read what the writer says : " I 
had spent a deal of money for medicine.' 9 Yes, 
and money she could poorly afford to spare. 
Illness and the expense of illness is the great 
hole in the pocket that I alluded to. It costs so 
much, and what does it give us in return ? Pain, 
weariness, and misery. There is another con- 
sideration besides. When we are ill we not 
only have to bear the increased outgo, but 
manage to meet larger demands out of a de- 
creased income. Our candle is burning at both 
ends. " Yes," you say, " but how can we keep 
from falling ill ? " You cannot always, but in 
view of the fact that most illnesses arise from 
indigestion and dyspepsia, a timely use of 
Mother SeigePs Curative Syrup will prevent it. 
A few shillings thus invested will save pounds 
in money and perhaps months of wretchedness. 
Think over tBno strikiiijj points in Mrs. Watson's 
excellent teLter a.nd you wilt tbiufc the same. 

(~* f\s\r\\ ■■• Original from 


by Google 

Original from 

Queen t/iciorids Dolls. 

[Her Majesty, in addition to giving us every facility fnr obtaining photographs of her c'nlls, has been 
graciously pleased U> read and revise this article. Her Majesly J s corrections are given in the form of fool- 

l-'ATIMA LADY l5kLt,HT<>\ (77). 

MKK. }\EK\}£RLk(?®). fcKM^TINE {*& 

LADV AliNOLO(lofi). 

HE instinct that prompts the 
normal little girl to play the 
part of mother to her dolls is 
not the less interesting and 
charming that it is common to 
-~* all female infancy ; but it 
becomes something more characteristic when 
to thb is added a touch of sat and a strong 
note of imagination, And if the picture of 
any little girl amongst her dolls is one that 
attracts us, if we delight to discover pre- 
monitions of unfolded individuality and 
winged fancies that will presently bear fruit, 
how much more absorbing and interesting 
does this study become when Uiat little 
player is a child-princess who is at once 
a child like any other, and yet at the 
same time how unlike. A little being, as 
yet unweighted with a crown^ yet set apart 
and shadowed by sovereignty. 

We remember the duties and respon- 
sibilities awaiting her, the momentous yea 
and nay that will some day have to be 
pronounced by those soft young lips ; and 
then is it any wonder that wc turn and watch 

her amongst her Liliputian subjects, stitch- 
ing, devising, cutting, and measuring infini- 
tesimal garments, with a feeling that is 
something deeper than what is usually aroused 
by a child's play ? 

An hour spent among the dolls that Queen 
Victoria played with as a child is not only a 
liberal education in the evanescent influences 
and fashions of the early part of this cen- 
tury, but an abiding study of her imaginative 
infancy. We see the scenes that affected 
her, the stories that enchanted her, the 
characters that -caught her fancy and left an 
impress on her imagination ; and we see also 
ill these childish achievements the same 
qualities of self control, patience, steadiness 
of purpose, and womanliness which have 
been consistently exercised by Queen Victoria 
in the prominent part played by her on the 
theatre if life. 

It will be an additional pleasure to the 
many thousands of readers of The Strand 
Magazine to know that Her Majesty has 
been gracious enough to not only take a 
warm interest in iliis little article, but also to 




favour them with the following interesting 
details, which she forwarded through Sir 
Henry Ponsonby. 

" Her Majesty was very much devoted to 
dolls, and indeed played with them till she 
was nearly fourteen years old. 

44 Her favourites were small dolls — small 
wooden dolls, which she could occupy her- 
self with dressing, and who had a house in 
which they could be placed. 

" None of Her Majesty's children cared for 
dolls as she did, but then, they had girl com- 
panions, which she never had. 

"Miss Victoria Conroy (afterwards Mrs. 
Hanmer) came to see her once a week, and 
occasionally others played with her, but with 
these exceptions she was left alone with the 
companionship of her dolls. " 

In a postscript to the above letter 
Sir H. Ponsonby 
adds: - "S incc 
writing the above. 
I have been in- 
formed that it is 
not correct that 
'none of Her 
Majesty's children 
cared for dolls,' as 
the four eldest r*\S 

Princesses were U; /^yg^^j^ 

very fond of &/T / 

them." // s~?( 

In a subsetj uen t y L*^ ^—~ 

note Sir Henry * 
adds :--«'The 
Queen usually 
(Jressed the dolls 
from some cos 
tumes she saw 
either in the theatre or private life." 

There is, indeed, ample evidence in the 
care and attention lavished upon the dolls of 
the immense importance with which they were 
regarded by their Royal little mistress ; and 
an additional and interesting proof of this is 
to be found in what one might call the " dolls' 
archives." These records are to be found in 
an ordinary copy-book, now a little yellow 
with years, on the inside cover of which is 
written in a childish, straggling, but deter- 
mined handwriting : " List of my dolls" Then 
follows in delicate feminine writing the name 
of the doll, by whom it was dressed, and the 
character it represented, though this particular 
is sometimes omitted. When the doll 
represents an actress, the date and name of 
the ballet are also given, by means of which 
one is enabled to determine the date of the 
dressing, which must have been between 1831 

and 1833, when, Sir Henry says, "the dolls 
were packed away." 

Of the one hundred and thirty-two dolls 
preserved, the Queen herself dressed no fewer 
than thirty-two, in a few of which she was 
helped by Baroness Lehzen, a fact that is 
scrupulously recorded in the book ; and they 
deserve to be handed down to posterity as an 
example of the patience and ingenuity and 
exquisite handiwork of a twelve-year-old 

The dolls are of the most unpromising 
material, and would be regarded with scorn 
by the average Board school child of to-day, 
whose toys, thanks to modern philanthropists, 
are of the most extravagant and expensive de- 
scription. But if the pleasures of imagination 
mean anything; if planning and creating 
and achieving are in themselves delightful 

to a child, and 
the cutting out 
and making of 
"dolly's clothes" 
especially, a charm 
to a little girl only 
second to nursing 
a live baby, then 
there is no doubt 
that the Princess 
obtained many 
more hours of 
pure happiness 
from her extensive 
wooden family 
than if it had 
been launched 
upon her ready 
dressed by the 
most expensive of 
Parisian modistes. Whether expensive dolls 
were not obtainable at that period, or whether 
the Princess preferred these droll little 
wooden creatures, as more suitable for the 
representation of historical and theatrical 
personages, I know not; but the whole col- 
lection is made up of them, and they cer- 
tainly make admirable little puppets, being 
articulated at the knees, thighs, joints, elbows 
and shoulders, and available for every kind 
of dramatic gesture and attitude. 

It must be admitted that they are not 
aesthetically beautiful, with their Dutch 
doll — not Dutch — type of face. Occasionally, 
owing to a chin being a little more pointed, 
or a nose a little blunter, there is a slight 
variation of expression ; but, with the excep- 
tion of height, which ranges from three inches 
to nine inches, they are precisely the same. 
There if f.hc queerest mixture of infancy and 



matronlincss in their little wooden facts, 
due to die combination of small, sharp noses, 
and bright vermilion cheeks (consisting of a 
big dab of paint in one 
spot), with broad, placid 
brows, over which, 
neatly parted on each 
temple, are painted 
elaborate, elderly, 
greyish curls. The 
remainder of the hair 
^jj is coal black, and is re- 
lieved by a tiny yellow 
comb perched upon the 
back of the head 



The doll, dressed by Her Majesty are for 
the most part theatrical personages and Court 
ladies, and include also three males (of 
whom there are only some seven or eight 
in the whole collec- 
tion) and a few little 
babies, tiny creatures 
made of rag, with 
painted muslin faces. 
The workmanship in 
the frocks is simply- 
exquisite ; tiny ruffles 
are sewn with fairy 
stitches ; wee pockets 
on aprons (it must be 
borne in mind for 
dolls of five or six 
inches) are delicately 
finished off with 
minute bows -little 
handkerchiefs not 
more than half an 
inch square are em- 
broidered with red 
.silk initials and have 
drawn borders ; and 
there are chatelaines 
of white and gold 
beads so small that 
they almost slip out of 
one's hands in hand- 
ling, and one is struck 
afresh by the deftness of finger and the un- 
wearied patience that must have been pos- 
sessed by the youthful fashioner* Not nearly 

so much care has been, however, expended 
on the underclothing, which is of the most 
limited description, many Court ladies having 
to be content with a single satin slip- the 
dancers alone, for obvious reasons, being 
provided (though not invariably) with silk 

A whole group of dolls Represent characters 
in the ballet of t4 Kenilworth," which was 
performed in 1831 at the famous Kings 
Theatre. It would be interesting to know 
whether Her Majesty was herself taken to 
the opera,* or whether the costumes were 
described to her, or whether the knowledge 
was obtained from prints, f which latter theory, 
owing to the minuteness of detail, seems the 
most probable. 

To this set the Princess Victoria con- 
tributed two of the characters, Robert Dudley, 
Earl of I Bicester, and Amy Robsart in 
riding costume, { 

The Earl of Leicester (i), who presents a 
distinctively masculine physiognomy, owin^ 
to the addition of painted black moustaches 
and whiskers, and the absence of a back 
comb, is attired in pink satin hose, slashed 
with white silk, a white satin tabbed tunic 
with pink satin slashings, and a white lace 
ruffle. On his breast he 
wears the blue rihbon of 


* She went to the opera and saw 
ihe ballet, of which she was very 
food, several times* 

t None existed. 

t Not riclinc costume - 


university omeiw.^ 

. 2 26 





the C-arter; and though he has no hat, 
probably a broad-brimmed velvet hat, with 
curling white plumes, found loose in the doll 
box> is his property- 
Amy Robsart (51), who was played in the 
ballet by Mile. Brocard, a very popular 
dancer of the period, has a long, narrow 
riding habit of green satin, with a short habit 
bodice of the same material trimmed with a 
narrow gold line down the front, and coming 
to a point at the waist. Her sleeves are tight, 
and she wears a large I) road -brimmed black 
velvet hat of the " Di Vernon" shape, with 
white curling fea tilers falling on to her fore- 
head. This is one of the most realistic of 
all the dolls, and the dress was no doubt an 
exact reproduction of the one worn by the 

Queen Elizabeth {27) in this ballet (dressed 
by Baroness Ijehzen) is magnificently attired 
it] a robe of gold tinsel stuff with puffed 
sleeves and a heavy girdle of gold beads. 
Her long round train hanging from her 
shoulder is made of the same material 
trimmed with ermine and lined with bright 
crimson plush, as are also her shoes. Round 
her neck she weary pearls ; and a wonderful 
little crown of crimson plush, with points of 
gold paper festooned with pearls, adorns the 
Royal head. 

There is also a representation of the 
Countess of Leicester {2), probably in the 
famous grotto scene where she appears before 
the Queen when she comes to seek the Earl. 

Lovers of " Kenilworth " will remember how 
Amy, after her long ride and rencontre with 
I.ambourne, escapes to the grotto, and is 
horrified at her appearance reflected in the 
basin of the fountain there. Scott tells us 
how, " reasoning like a woman to whom ex- 
ternal appearance is scarcely in any circum* 

L 1 HI 

rtft!iWft , *3£ Mrhuh 

W^tf* (2J. 




stances a matter of unimportance, and like 
a beauty who had some confidence in the 
power of her own charms, she laid aside her 
travelling cloak 
and capotaine haL 
The dress she 
wore under these 
vestments was 
somewhat of a 
theatrical cast, so 
as to suit the 
assumed person- 
age of one of 
the females who 
was to act in the 
pageant.' 1 She 
wears a white silk 
pet t icoa t e rnbr 01- 
dered in gold, and 
a redingote of 
pink satin also 
embroidered in 
gold and trimmed 
with green satin, 
The front of her 
bodice is low and 
resembles a sto- 
macher, with trim- 
mings of gold 

embroidery to match" the petticoat The 
sleeves are very striking, and, so far as I 
know, are not in Elizabethan 
style. There are tight, very much 
puffed under sleeves of while 
satin> over which are large open 
wings of pink satin embroidered 
in green satin thread. The ac- 
cessories of this beautifully dressed 
lady include a crown of gold paper 
ornamented with gold and green 
beads, a high lace ruffle, several 
rows of tiny pearls to which a 
cross of gold beads is attached, 
and white leather shoes with gold 

Now and again one comes 
across a genuine Dutch face, 
which has been obviously recog- 
nised by the Princess or her 
attendants, and its possessor 
characteristically attired as . a 
Dutch peasant There is the 
quaintest little doll imaginable, 
called Ernestine (23)? which, ac- 
cording to the doll-book, "was 
brought from Berne/' Unlike 
the other dolls, it is made of white leather, 
is about four inches in height, and the same 
in breadth. She is a little squat, dumpy 

woman, with a huge waist and a squareness 
of countenance and figure and frock that is 
irresistibly humorous. Her short, full black 
skirt, edged with red, her green- 
striped silk apron, muslin chemi- 
sette, frilled cape, black velvet 
stomacher and braces give the 
buxom little woman an absurd 
air of reality and familiarity, send- 
ing your mind instantly to Swiss 
figures and scenes* 

But to return to the dolls clothed 
by Her Majesty, naturally the chief 
interest to most of us. Male char- 
acters seem to have been especial 
favourites, though they are by no 
means so elaborately cared for as 
the ladies* 

Count Almaviva (25) is, as will 
be remembered, one of the prin- 
cipal male characters in "The 
Marriage of Figaro " and in " The 
Barber of Seville," both of which 
operas were frequently played about 
this period. He looks a very dash- 
ing Count indeed in baggy white 
silk breeches, a long sky-blue satin 
frock coat finished off with a lace 
ruffle, and on his head a circular 
broad-brimmed hat of blue satin, adorned 
with blue and silver striped ribbon and a 
crown of frilled white 

Monsieur Musard 
(54), '* dressed by Prin- 
cess Victoria, "' is, I 
think, the only doll 
with an unmistakable 
man's face. He is evi- 
dently a clown, and has 
the brightest of yellow 
silk pantaloons, baggy 
sleeves, a short blue 
silk jacket, and a fasci- 
nating little lace frill. 

Some of the lady 
dancers are charming. 
There is Mile. Pauline 
Duvernay (ry). Who 
does not remember 
Thackeray's raptures 
about Mile. Duvernay? 
-" When I think of 
Duvernay prancing in 
as the Bayadfere, I say 
it was a vision of loveli^ 
ness such as mortal eyes can't sec nowadays. 
How well T remember the tune to which 
she ^ft'lfiStjfjiesffl.VjKaled used to say to 

M. MU^AKD (5,1). 



&ILLE* UUVliKNAY (ij). AILLt. LLlKhOil St ANCILIN (20). 

peared in the lxillet of "I/Anneau 
Magique," in 1832 — ll made by 
Princess Victoria." It is of white 
satin covered with white Spanish 
net, and has on each side of the 
skirt tiny panels made of white 
satin piping, tied at each end with 
infinitesimally small bows of white 
ribbon, and ornamented about half 
way up with tiny bunches of pink 
roses. The beautiful precision and 
symmetry of the bows and panels ; 
the delicate finish of every part of 
the dress ; the care with which the 
silver coronal and wreath of pink 
roses have been disposed on the 
head, constitute a piece of work 
which is, in its way, if one may use 
so big a word, a little " masterpiece " 
that would satisfy and gladden the 
heart of Mr. Ruskin, 

The wreaths and ribbons are, 1 
think, quite unique, and 1 should 
feel disposed to the belief that they 
were manufactured for this es{>eeial 

The ribbon, extensively used fur 

the Sultan ; ' My lord, a troop of those the trimmings, is the prettiest thing of its 

dancing and singing girls, called Bayaderes, kind. It is 

approaches/ and to the dash of cymbals and very narrow, 

the thumping of my heart, in she used to under a 

dance. There has never 

been anything like it 

never. There never will 

be," Well, I say, when 

these words come into one's 

mind at the sight of the 

word Duvernay, it is natural 

to give this young lady a 

longer glance. The Queen 

has dressed her, not as she 

sprung upon Tha 1 : k er ay s 

bewitched gaze, but as she 

appeared in the ballet of the 

"Sleeping Beauty," in a 

fairy -like robe of white 

tarlatan, shining with tiny 

glittering shapes cut out of 

green, gold, and crimson 

tinsel. Pearls encircle her 

fair neck, and there are the 

remains of some sort of 

mffure upon her head. 
A robe with an immense 

amount of needlework in it 

and of the most artistic order 

(30) is worn by '* Mrs. 

1 >udley, formerly Mile. Leonf 

tine Hiiljerld/' as she ap- 



ovx {&). 



MLLE. f 'ROCHE (40). 



quarter of an inch in breadth, and is com- 
posed of two, and sometimes three, shades 
of colour, in the softest pinks, yellows* mauves, 
and blues. As for the wreathing, it is an 
artistic triumph. Each little pink or yellow 
rose, which would lie easily on a threepenny 
piece, has its neatly adjusted green centre 
and stalk and accompanying leaves, all of 
which in their turn are cut and shaped with 
wonderful skill. 

Several of the dolls are dressed in the 
different characters taken by the celebrated 
Marie Taglioni and her sisters* in the ballets 
of "La Bayadfere," "La Sylphide," and 
" William Tell/'t 

The Princess must at an early age have 
been expert with her knitting neediest for the 
ballerina, as a Tyrolean peasant in " William 
Tell" (14), wears neat little pink and blue 
stockings and nicely fitting white shoes. 
She has a short crimson silk skirt edged with 
bands of green and guld Urn id, a bodice of 
crimson and gold brocade with short sleeves 
of white muslin, and the most coquettish of 
muslin and lace aprons. There is another 
doll representing Taglioni in "La Sylphide " 
(lo), dressed by Baroness Lehzen in a very 
much abbreviated muslin dress, which is, 
however, of less consequence when we per- 
ceive she has charming little gossamer wings 
painted in white and gold, A silver wreath is 
pinned on her hair (see page 233), She again 
appears dressed by the Baroness as a peasant^ 


* She had none* t In an incidental dance. 

X No. Baroness Lehzen did the minute work. 
§ Dancing girl. 

in * fi La Bayadfere " (7), and is a romantic and 
picturesque figure in her scarlet stomacher, 
wee scarlet tippet and big blue velvet capote 
with bunches of pink roses. 

The number and variety of the Liliputian 
mummers set one wondering whether the 



Princess had a miniature theatre, and, if so, 
whether she arranged her puppets simply as 
lay figures in tableaux, or whether they acted 
their parts with make-believe speech and 
gesture, What a fascinating picture it is of 
the little painted cardboard theatre, and 




what an enviable post for a stage manager ! 
No discontented "stars," nor fault-finding 
critics, nor ill-mannered audience, but the 
most docile and manageable company of 
lace-bespangled ladies and gentlemen, and 
the politest of fashionable audiences, com- 


posed of becomingly-attired Court ladies in 
the stalls. 

In such a company the splendour of 
Mile, Porphyrin Brocard's frock would have 
assuredly entitled her to the position of 
prtmtire danseuse (47). She was one of the 
celebrated sisters and, according to the book, 
afterwards married the Duke of Lorraine, 
The Princess has arrayed 
her in a short silver gauze 
petticoat and tight white satin 
bodice with silver spangles ; 
a gay green garland is on her 
head, and a gold chain T to 
which hangs a beautifully- 
made pocket of white and 
gold beads, encircles her slen- 
der waist There is an apron 
worn by one of the dolls 
dressed by the Queen — as 
Mile, Sylvie Leconte, the 
dancer, who is said to have 
come second to Taglioni, 
and who married Prince Poni- 
atowsky — which won my 
deepest admiration. It 
might have been woven in 
elfland, so fragile and fairy- 
like is the white areophane 
q{ which it is wrought, and 

Digitized by^C 

so exquisite are the curves and so sure the 
stitching of blue, violet and grass-green silks 
with which it is embellished (48). 

But the number of dancers is infinite ; 
there is Mile. Proche (43) as she appeared 
in u Un Jour & Naples," in the brightest of 
yellow silk skirts, with prune-coloured 
trimmings round the bottom, and 
bodice also of prune colour. The 
sleeves are of the lightest and most 
delicate white lace* The little table 
at which she is seen standing in our 
illustration below is a faithful model 
in mahogany of the tables in fashion 
at that period. The tiny chair is 
made of cardboard, covered with 
light silk by the Princess. Another 
such chair is to be seen in the 
illustration which represents Miss 
Poole {46) ; and again in "La Son- 
nambula" as the neatest and most 
bewitching of peasant damsels in a 
short white silk skirt trimmed with 
scarlet ribbons t a scarlet cloth 
stomacher, and a provoking big- 
brimmed hat of purple velvet and 
scarlet ribbons (40) ; Mile. Augusta 
dancing through the popular " La 
Bayadere" (37), in white tarlatan 
silver; Sylvie Leconte (44)* this 
in blue satin and pink and yellow 




A member of the " superior sex " dressed 
by the Princess Victoria is M, Albert (52)* 
probably the celebrated ballet master of the 
King^s Theatre, whose costume puzzles me 
somewhat, as it seems to have stopped at 
a very early stage of the 
proceedings. He is a 
particularly long, and if one 
may use the word, "bony," 
creature, and is airily clad 
in a single garment made 
of fine white linen. If there 
were not other circumstances 
(to which I shall allude in a 
moment) it would be proper 
to assume — as the garment 
comes but a short way below 
the waist — that other (for- 
gotten) garments were in- 
tended to supplement it. But 
on a closer inspection I 
noticed to my surprise that 
the shift was neatly trimmed 
at the bottom with rows of the 
narrowest and palest of blue 
ribbon, whilst a blue silken 
«£*. r R «« K < 4 jX Ori 5fpfe I f fi!?FP le(i the waist » 



and a narrow piping of blue drew the fulness 
into the neck. It is clear then, from this 
decoration, that M. Albert's somewhat un- 
conventional costume was premeditated. 

Mile. Euphrosine Ancilin (41) is in white 
satin and muslin, and a muslin apron with the 
tiniest of pockets worked in silver thread; 
Mile. Melanin Ancilin, in white tarlatan and 
mauve shaded ribbons (42), and Mile* 
Celestine, who afterwards became Ijidy I^enox, 
in white silk and net and pale blue ribbons 
(76), Here is the wonderful child-actress, 
little Miss Poole (46), a tiny doll in a single 
pink gauze garment of the briefest dimen- 



tfLLE LttCOHT* (44) 

is shown in her dress of brilliant yellow 
silk, the petticoat and corsage of which are 
edged with a silky, fluffy white fur. At the 
back there is a big scarlet 
satin panier, and there are 
puffed sleeves of the same 
silk. (See page 223,) 
Minetta, Mile. Brocr»rd 
(105), in the " Maid of 

MLLt. AL'tJVM". 

sions, probably as she ap- 
peared in the operetta ct Old 
and Young,' 1 singing her 
famous song of " Meet me 
by moonlight alone;'' and 
there is Pauline Leroux (39), 
another of Thackeray's 
favourites, as she appeared in 
" Masaniello," a bewitching 
peasant maiden in fawn and 
pale blue -to all of which the 
indefatigable little Princess 
played the part of costumifere. 
(See page 228.) 

Then Baroness I^ehzen 
contributes Fatima Lady 
Brighton (77) as Mi^s Cause 
appeared in " Azor and 
Zemira," a %'ery popular opera, 
founded upon the old fairy 
story of Beauty and the Beast 
Fatima is the material-minded elder sister 
who asked her father to bring back rich 
silks, and whose love of gorgeous apparel 

MLLK. SI ELAN IE AxNtlLI^ (4*). 

11. ALBERT (52). 


II l-S (41) 

Palaseau," is in rose-coloured silk and jewels, 
and there are a whole host of sprightly 
nymphs in'Nftifld fB&flh and muslin t and 


23 = 



* w 




7' f.J 

j^t^^*^^ * " i 


7 T ii" - 



almost unknown in modern stuffs, A white* 
net cap, with white lace frills and flying 
pink ribbons, is tied on under her round chin; 
and if there were many such pleasant-faced, 
buxom housekeepers in the olden days, it is 
no wonder that the romancers make so much 
of them, 

The prettiest and most perfect thing in the 
way of hats is a cream satin one the name of 
which I know not, though it often figures in 
French pictures of eighteenth century belles. 
It has a very broad brim, narrowing to the 
side, and a crown which rises high and broad 
at the back and slants down towards the front 
The broad brim is lined with pink satin, and 
narrow pink ribbon is twisted about the 
crown and tied into a big bow at the left 
side, the corresponding side having a knot 

mks. maktha, ho l st: k she n eh (Bz) 

ribbons and rosettes and roses. (See 
page 226.) 

There is a surprising variety of hats and 
bonnets and caps, A prince of caps is worn 
by "Mrs. Martha, Housekeeper" (82). She is 
a bigger and more substantial doll than the 
rest, with a fat, round, good-humoured face, 
a broad nose, and an air of prosperous com- 
placency which 
send your 
thoughts back 
to oak chests, 
lavender - pressed 
sheets, and the 
attractive "family 
housekeeper " of a 
certain type of 
domestic novel. 
Her dress is as 
appropriate and 
"real n as it could 
be ; a long, full, 
white lawn frock, 
full bodice, with 
sleeves drawn in 
at the wrist, and 
a long pinked-out 
apron of that 
delicious old- 
fashioned shade 
of deep rich 
purple which is 


of lace and pink ribbon — altogether a very 
smart and dashing piece of millinery, 

A much more sober piec^ of goods— but 
quite as beautifully made — is a white 

watered silk hat 
worn hy Lady 
Bulkley {107), It 
is smaller in 
shape, with a 
broad brim nar- 
rowing behind, 
and a crown which 
is square and high 
in front and low 
and narrow be- 
hind. It is ele- 
gantly trimmed 
with Spanish lace 
and white roses, 
and has white lace 
lappets tied with 
white ribbons. 
Both hats arc firm- 
ly made on card- 
board and are 
neatly lined and 

There is a 





LADY ARNOLD (flo). HDV BULKLfiY (107)1 


peasant's cap worn by Mile, Rosalie Tag- 
lioni (8) which would ravish the heart of 
any little girl. It is fashioned of violet 
velvet trimmed with narrow gold braid, and 
has projecting out on either side two Lili- 
putian gold pins with real round golden 
knobs, Phillippa Countess of Jedburgh 
(69) wears an opera hat of exactly the same 
kind as was worn by Court ladies to the 
theatre in the early part of this century. It 
is made of black velvet with an immense 
brim, which is bound with pink cord, and is 
trimmed with pink marabout feathers both 
outside and inside the brim. (See page 226.^ 

All the Court ladies, in contradistinction 
to the ladies of the ballet, have moderately 
long full skirts, and, as a rule, low pointed 
bodices and g^ot sleeves — and there is not 
a sign of the flounces and crinolines so much 
worn immediately before Queen Victoria's 
accession, and again later. 

Lady Arnold (100) seems to have been one 
of the Princess's favourites, as she appears in 
at least five different costumes. She looks 
particularly well in a full-skirted, short-waisted 
dress of pale yellow crape trimmed with knots 
of shaded mauve ribbon of the most delicate 
colour (made by the Princess), The same 





ELHiliNIE t 

MORTON {}*>). ' l kU±\ DAHALIG {l2$\ 





NEWTON (89)1 


lady is also attired in a curious old-fashioned 

style of dress, not altogether unlike the 

Russian tunic of to-day. It is a straight 

scanty gown of 

white lawn, and 

resembles a 

nightdress with 

a flounce at the 

bottom, Over it 

there is a sort of 

paletot reaching 

below the knees, 

which fastens in 

front and has a 

frill round the 

bottom, and a 

sash of white 

ribbon confining 

the waist, It is 

curious and 

quaint, and has 

an old-world air 

(8o), but it must 

be confessed it 

belongs to the 

kingdom of dow- 

dyisnij and looks 

odd amongst the 

pointed bodices and full skirts of the smarter 

Court dames. 

A beautifully robed grandedame (the part of 
Court milliner being played by the Princess) 
is Lady Shrewsbury (50), in white silk 
with a magenta satin train from the shoulder, 
and a Medici collar of Spanish lace with 

pearl ornaments. A crimson plush turban 
adorned with pearls surmounts her temples, 
and gives her a majestic and awe-inspiring 


Another superb 
personage is 
Catherine Coun- 
tess of Claremont 
(91), whose cloak 
of pink satin 
edged with er- 
mine, and having 
a deep pelerine of 
the same fur, is of 
the most costly 
description. The 
sumptuousness of 
her toilette is 
increased by a 
long pink satin 
train embroidered 
in silver, and an 
elaborate head- 
dress of white net, 
lace, and gold 
flowers. Several 
of the ladies (pro- 
bably those of 
fashion for young 
wear caps was rather 


maturer age, as the 

married ladies to 

earlier) wear becoming caps of net and 

ribbons with their evening toilettes ; and one 

cannot help wishing that modern elderly 

ladies adopted the practice, for what could 

be more hecoming ihm the one that graces 




FOR5TEH (49-). 

\- '■,'.]■ L I A ! '.LV- 


the head of the Duchess of Warwick (71), or 
the elegant and at the same time sedate 
affair worn by the Countess of Derwentwater 
( 1 20), whose dress 
of white corded silk, 
festooned with 
bunches of yellow 
roses and pale blue 
ribbon, is made 

head at present, but there are signs that 
flowers — possibly a wreath of orange-blossom 
— once rested there. (See frontispiece.) 

Several tiny dolls, representing 
the children of various aristocratic 
personages, are dressed by the Prin- 
cess with a simplicity that would 

2 *&*. f 

om.ukKN of Isabella LADY 

PULTettEY (98 AND 99X 

in this gallery, dressed 

with admirable taste by 
the Princess? (See 

There is a lady ? 
Harriet Arnold , Duchess 
of Parma (115), who 
seems to have been very 
frequently married ] and 
it is on one of the four 
happy occasions when 
she figured in bridal 
costume that she appears 
by Princess Victoria— 

presumably whilst the lady is still in the summer 
of youth. For she wears the maiden's wedding 
gown of white satin, with a long white net veil 
falling from the back of her head, in two ends, to 
her feet. Only a plain silver band adorns her 

m 9 "^%^r ' m. 

m Hbkiv 

1 v -{: 

M« ' ^fl BMP** 



DUDLEY (j AND +)■ 




as much delight the Rational Dress Society 
as it would pain the aesthetic sensibilities of 

a Parisian 
There are 
the little 
of Lady 
who is 
herself ex- 

ladies, but I hope I have given sufficiently 
exact details to give my readers some 
notion of the ingenuity and taste and thought 
and artistic skill that have been expended 
upon their costumes, no two of which are 


quisitely attiml by the Princess in white silk, 
strewn with tiny flowers of pink ribbon (97) 
— wearing sensible, full, loose frocks of 
checked silk (98 and 99}; another little 
child, the daughter of a Countess, is in a 
flowing frock of yellow silk with a sash 
(61); whilst in curious contrast to these 
young persons are two quaint little children 
(3 and 4), designated in the book as the 
children of the Earl and Countess of Dudley, 
They wear the 
elaborate eus- 
tume that 
babies wore 
early in the 
eighteenth cen- 
tury, with long 
white satin 
skirts reaching 
below theiT 
feet, and short 
pointed bo- 
dices, one of 
blue the other 
of pink satin, 
with long coats 
to match, and 
tight, close-fit- 
ting little caps. 
This does 
not nearly ex- 
haust the galaxy 
of fair Court 

^9fc # 




8^ * 


Ufl 'r^^H *^l 




precisely similar, there being always some 
slight distinction in the colour or mode of 

trimming, or 
the fashioning 
of a sleeve or 
apron (aprons, 
it must be re- 
in e m be red, 
played an im- 
portant part in 
a fashionable 
lady's toilette 
in those days), 
which gives in- 
dividuality to 
the wearer, A 
m o m e n t J s 
glance at the 
style of decora- 
tion employed 
in I<ady Aga- 
thina Arnold's 
skirt (100), and 
that of Lady 
xUtl i^cHHs^pj^jY^sTKR (^ Nina Morton 




(96), will give a better idea of this rich 
variety in ornamentation than pages of 
description. Both skirts are made by the 

looking elderly gentleman in wide green 
trousers and a long, snuff-coloured overcoat, 
with a turn-down collar opening at the neck 
to show a blue waistcoat. 

There is a curious and mirth -in spiring Court 
group consisting of a stately lady, Alice 
Countess of Rothesay (66), in white satin and 
a white boa, who holds in each arm a long- 
clothes baby. The tiny creatures are 


Princess, but in one the trimming is a long 
line of narrow ribbon extending from the 
hem of the skirt to about half way, where it 
is finished off with loops, whilst in the 
other the scheme is a groundwork of crim- 
son satin dotted with white silk rosettes. 

Quite different again are Viscountess 
Stuart's {93) pink and green silk embroidered 
robe, Lady New- 
port's (in) pink 
satin gown with 
a somewhat crude 
ha nd-pain ted 
border in blue 
and green (see 
page 228), and the 
Duchess of Wor- 
cester's (88) cos- 
tume of yellow 
satin with puff 
sleeves shrouded 
with Spanish net, 
all of which are 
either wholly or 
partially dressed 
by the Princess. 

Amongst the 
Court personages 
I must not forget 
Sir William Ar- 

no J a, a Comical- mmr. fboche brocakd <i8)l mad a me zep 

aaB i l ^BiMI 


evidently twins, though one infant is attired 
in satin with a white silken girdle* whilst 
the other wears humble lawn* Perhaps they 

are boys, and the 
satin baby is the 

Another queer 
little personage is 
a "stage soldier" 
(131), in white 
duck trousers and 
a scarlet coat 
trimmed in mili- 
tary fashion with 
gold braid, (See 
page 233,) 

But the most 
lovable creature 
in the whole 
collection is a 
Miss Arnold (8 r). 
She is just a 
sweet natural 
young girl — a 
gen t le woman 

Tffli?ffislfir6niicH0Elf &&-£ 

2 3 8 


her — in the simplest of white muslin frocks 
with a faintly tinted lilac sash and neck 
ribbon. Over her shoulders is a lace fichu 
reaching in long ends to her feet. You 
forget for an instant about wooden joints 
and painted cheeks j and 3 peering beneath 
her coal-scuttle bonnet, look eagerly for 
the fair and serious face that goes along 
with this Puritan maiden. What a bewitch- 
ing thing this poke bonnet is, too, of rich 
yellow strawj trimmed with an artist's eye 
for colour, in severe lines of purple ribbon 
tying under the demure chin ! Was Miss 
Arnold's name PrisrilJa or Dorothy, and were 
all the young dandies sighing for this charming 
lady, and did she get love-letters and verses 
about broken hearts and Cupid by the score? 

How absurd it 
seems that such an 
idea should be 
evoked by a com* 
mon twopenny 
Dutch doll, and 
how some people 
will scoff; but I 
declare that there is 
something not easily 
definable about this 
young creature 
which would touch 
the least senti- 
mental of persons. 

There are, as we 
have seen, several 
little tables and 
chairs covered in 
silk and chintz, 
and some fasci- 
nating tiny bead trinkets and little crystal 
tea services of the kind sold in boxes some 


twenty years ago, but which are very difficult 
to procure nowadays, One of these services, 
set out upon a tiny table, is here represented. 
The two ladies who are standing at the table 
are Madame Proche Brocard as she appeared 
in the ballet of " Kenilworth * in 1S31-33; 
and Madame Zephyrine Galebstie (38), 

This, I think, ends my pleasant task, 
though a word of mention must be made of 
a small w T hite satin cradle, made from 
a cardboard box, containing another set of 
twins, perhaps the little Rothesay s (86); and of 
a numerous variety of satin quilts edged with 
lace, and silk and satin cushions, no doubt 
used for the drawing-room sofas. 

But the best of descriptions could not 
convey any idea of the rich coloured silks 

and satins of the 
robes^ or of the 
cunning needle art 
which has beeli 
expended upon 
their embellish- 
ment, or of the 
delicate fancy 
which has been 
employed with the 
happiest results, I 
would that every 
doll-lover, big and 
little, could get a 
glimpse of the 
charming play- 
things which made 
happy the child- 
h o o d of her 
who is endeared 
to her subjects 
as a good wife, a good mother, and a wise 
and exemplary ruler. Frances H. Low, 

by Google 

Original from 

The Case of Roger Carboyne. 

By H. Grf.enhough Smith. 



■ Vff ' m Hk^&Hv ^^MFl 




HE mysterious 

and extra- 

ordinary cir- 

cumsta nces 


the death of 
Mr, Roger Carboyne have 
excited so much interest, that it is not 
surprising that the room in the "Three 
Crows" Inn, which had been set apart for 
the inquest, was crowded at an early hour. 
The evidence was expected to be sensational 
— and most sensational, indeed, it proved to 
be. But for the even more remarkable 
denouement of the case it is impossible that 
any person present could have been prepared. 
The jury having returned from viewing the 
body, and the Coroner having taken his seat, 
the Court immediately proceeded to call 

Mr Lewis George Staymer, the dead man's 
friend and companion, whose name had been 
in everybody's mouth during the last three 
days, was of course the first to be examined, 
and his appearance obviously excited the 
strongest curiosity- He is a young man of 
twenty -fr e, tall, dark, and wearing a slight 
black moustache. His marked air of 
self possession, an I his quiet and direct mode 

Digitized by W 


of giving his evidence, were 
manifestly those of a man who 
had no other motive than to 
relate the facts exactly as they 
happened His testimbny, 
which it will be seen confirmed 
in every respect the extra- 
ordinary rumours with which the public are 
familiar, was as follows: — 

" My name is Lewis George Staymer. I 
am a medical student, studying at I^ondon 
University and at St. Bartholomew's Hospital 
Mr. Carboyne was a fellow student with me ; 
he was two years older than myself, and we 
were fast friends, attending the same lectures, 
and generally spending our vacations together. 
Ten days ago we arranged to spend our 
Easter holidays on a riding tour on ponies 
through North Wales, We started on March 
15th, and carried out our programme, day 
by day, until the 21st — -last Friday, On the 
afternoon of that day we mounted our ponies 
at the door of the inn where we had stopped 
for lunch, the 'Golden Harp/ at Llanmawr, 
and rode forward on our way ; it was then 
about half-past two. The weather was fine, 
but very cold for the time of year, and the 
ground was whitened by a light fall of snow. 
It must have been nearly live o'clock when a 




slight accident to one of my stirrup-leathers 
forced me to dismount I called to my 
companion to ride on, and that I would over- 
take him immediately, and he did so. The 
road at that point runs along the mountain 
side, between a lofty cliff u[>on the left and 
a precipitou i descent upon the right — but the 
path is broad and smooth, being, I should 
say, from ten to fifteen yards wide, and in no 
way danj^rous. About fifty or sixty yards 
from the sjx>t where I dismounted the path 
turned at a sharp angle round a point of rock 
and became lost to sight. I happened to 
look up, while still engaged upon the stirrup 
leather, and I saw my friend disappear 
round the angle of the road- As soon as I 
had finished my work, which took me some- 
what longer than I had expected, I remounted* 
and was about to follow him when I was 
startled to hear his voice cry out for help. 
It was a shriek — a single ringing scream- 
uttered as if in 
extremity of 
agony or terror, 
I galloped for- 
ward, and on 
reaching the 
angle of the road 
I was surprised 
to see his pony 

standing in the roadway, some sixty yards 
ahead, with the saddle empty* The rider 
was nowhere to be seen.' 1 

" What time had elapsed since he left 
you ? * 

"I should say about four or five minutes 
— possibly six — but not more than that, I 
feel sure." 

II What did you do next ? " 

II I rode forward, calling his name loudly, 
and easting my eyes in all directions; but I 
could see no trace of him, nor of any living 

Digitized by GoOgJC 

creature. The cliff, which at that point 
forpied a deep bay, round which the roadway 
ran to the corresponding angle at the other 
extremity of the arc, was as steep and naked 
as a wall ; on the other hand was the 
precipice. When I reached the spot at 
which the pony stood t I perceived that it 
was trembling, as if strongly startled ; it 
made no effort to escape. One of the 
stirrups was lying across the saddle ; the 
other was hanging in the usual position. I 
saw nothing else unusual about the pony, 
but on casting my eyes upon the snowy 
roadway I perceived marks as if a struggle 
had taken place there." 

" What was the position of these marks ? " 
w They were in front of the pony, on the 
forward track, and appeared as if some heavy 
body had been dragged for a distance of 
eight or ten yards* Then the marks ceased 
abruptly ; the snow all round was absolutely 

"There were no foot- 
prints ? " 

" None whatever^ except 

those of our two ponies on 

the way by which we had 

come. The road in front 

was a white sheet — it was 

clear that no 

one could have 

passed that way 

since the snow 


"Did the 
marks extend 
to the edge of 
the precipice?" 
"Oh, no; 
they did not 
stretch in that 
direction at all. 
The snow be- 
tween them and 
the verge of the 
precipice was 
smooth and un- 
Did you approach the verge ? " 

I did I looked over and saw 
something white fluttering on the branches 
of a -tree which sprouted from a crovice a 
few yards below. It was Mr. Carboy tie's 
handkerchief; I knew it by the peculiar 
coloured border I had seen him use it that 
morning. I could not discern the bottom 
of the chasm, which w F as hidden by the 
branches of the trees growing at the base* 


* Yes , 



The fall was almost sheer and quite impos- 
sible to descend. I was greatly agitated, 
and for some moments was at a loss what to 
do. I believed my friend lay at the foot of 
the precipice, but could form no conjecture 
as to how he could have got there," 

" Describe your course of action." 

^ I returned to the ponies, with the 
purpose of riding with all speed to find the 
nearest point of descent, and was in the act 
of mounting when I saw two men on foot 
approaching from the angle of the mad 
behind me. They were two working men, 
and are now in court." 

" You rushed to meet them and told them 
what had occurred ? " 

" I did. They informed me that I should 
find a descent about a mile further on, and 
offered to guide me to the spot I gladly 
accepted ; we set forward in the direction in 
which we had been travelling, and had 
nearly reached the other angle of the bay 
round which the path again turned, when 
some heavy object fell from the cliff upon the 
road, a few yards from us. We darted 
forward to the spot, and I took it up, It was 
Mr Carboyne's field-glass." (Sensation in 

" Proceed, Mr. Staymer," 

41 We all three then looked up and saw, on 

the top of a young sapling which shot out 
almost at right angles to the cliff, a cap 
hanging. It was about half-way up the cliff — 
some thirty feet or so." 

"You recognised the cap." 

"Yes ; it was Mr. Carboyne's." 

" You formed no idea as to how it got 

" None. I was completely bewildered, and 
am still." 

" Did you attempt to reach the cap ? " 

"No — it was impossible to do so. The 
cliff was sheer wall — a goat could not have 
found a foothold/' 

"What happened next?" 

" I endeavoured, with the aid of my own 
glasses, to discover any other trace or clue, 
but failed to do so. At the top the cliff 
overhung a little, and then appeared to form 
a plateau, of which, of course, I could not 
see the surface, I resolved to ascend to it, 
and to look down ; I hardly know what I 




Origiml from 



expected to gain by this. My companions 
informed me that by making a detour of half- 
a-mile the summit could be reached. I set 
off with one instantly, while his comrade 
stayed below to indicate the spot. After 
nearly half-an-hour's hard climbing we reached 
the plateau." 

" What did you discover ? n 

" We discovered the body of Mr, Car- 
boyne," (Renewed sensation.) 

" What was its position ? " 

" It was lying face dowimards in the snow, 
about three feet from the edge of the cliff. 
It was clear from the marks in the snow 
that the deceased had originally lain in 
a position nearly twenty feet further in — - 
that is, further from the edge — and had 

11 Did you form any opinion as to how the 
rent was made ? " 

" No ; but it was done by a somewhat 
blunt instrument ; the edges of the rent 
were ripped — not cut," 

14 Was anything missing from the body ? * 

" Yes ; the knapsack which deceased wore 
by a strap across his shoulder had disap- 

" Anything else ? " 

* £ I believe nothing else. His money, 
which he carried in his breast-pocket, was 
untouched. His watch and chain were also 
left, as well as a valuable ring which he 
always wore, and which was, as 1 have heard 
him say, a keepsake." 

" You remained with the body while the 
workman, John Rhys, went to give informa- 
tion to the police ? " 



crawled from thence towards 
the verge. There was no 
indication of any other person 
having been upon the plateau — none what- 

" The snow was absolutely undisturbed?" 


"Was the deceased quite dead when 

"Yes, quite. He must have died about 
half-an-hour before," 

" You examined him for injuries ? " 

"I did. I found bruises and abrasions, 
but no wound sufficient to account for death. 
The fatal result, as has since been proved, 
was due, primarily, to shock acting on a weak 

u Did you observe any damage to the 

"Yes. The coat was ripped half-way up 
the back— that is to say, there was a wide 
and roughly-torn rent from the middle of the 
back to just below the collar." 

" What space of time elapsed before they 
came ? " 

" I do not know — I should guess about 
two hours." 

"During that time did you observe any 
circumstance which would help to explain 
how T the deceased could possibly have got 

" Absolutely none." 

" You can form no theory or conjecture 
on the subject?" 

" None whatever. I am completely be- 
wildered, and can only speak to what I saw, 
without being able to offer any shadow of 

A Juryman : " Do you suggest that the 
deceased threw the glasses over the cliff in 
order to attract attention ? " 

" That is the only explanation that occurs 
to me. It is almost certain that he was alive 
at the time they fell ; probably he found 
himself too weak to reach the edge, and 
therefore threw down the glasses as the first 




article that came to hand. He carried them 
in his side pocket, ready for use." 

" Could you identify the missing knapsack 
if you saw it ? " 

" Certainly. It was a brown leather knap- 
sack, having the corners bound with brass — 
a very unusual thing. The strap had been 
broken and mended with twine." 

"You have stated that the snow on the 
road and also on the plateau showed no 
footprints of a second person ; you are 
absolutely sure of this ? " 

" I am absolutely sure." 

The witness then stood down. 

John Rhys and William Evans, quarry- 
men, the two men who had come to the 
assistance of Mr. Staymer, were then called, 
and confirmed his evidence in every par- 
ticular, but were unable to throw any new 
light upon the subject 

Sergeant Wallis, who had been sum- 
moned to the scene of the tragedy, was the 
next witness. He deposed as follows : — 

" On receiving notice of the case, I and 
an assistant rode with all speed to the 
plateau, where the body of the deceased had 
been found and where it was still lying. I 
made a most careful investigation both of 
the body and of the plateau, and afterwards 
descended to the roadway, which I also 
thoroughly examined. I found the marks of 
a struggle in the snow, as described by the 
previous witnesses. This is, in my opinion, 
clearly a case of foul play — of robbery and 
murder. I infer this from the absence of 
the knapsack. I am aware, of course, that 
the money, the watch, and the ring were left. 
I cannot entirely account for this at present, 
but I have no doubt of doing so shortly." 

" Can you account for the absence of 
footprints ? " 


"Nor for the extraordinary situation in 
which the body was found ? " 

" No." 

" In short, the police are entirely at fault?" 

"Not at all. On the contrary, we have 
every prospect of arresting the criminal 
within a very few days." 

The Coroner expressed a hope that this 
would be the case, but hardly seemed to 
share the sergeant's confidence. He then 
proceeded to address the jury. 

"Gentlemen, I have no hesitation in saying 
that this is the most remarkable case 
which I have ever been engaged in investi- 
gating. There are three or four points in it 
which seem to be absolutely unaccountable : 
the absence of footprints in the snow, the 

sudden transference of the victim by some 
mysterious means from the roadway to the 
plateau sixty feet above, the handkerchief 
found in the ravine, and the absence of the 
knapsack, coupled with the safety of the 
money, watch, and rings. These circum- 
stances are beyond the scope of my experience, 
which has been a tolerably long one — a 
tolerably long one, gentlemen. There can, 
however, be no doubt that a foul crime has 
been committed." 

At this stage the Coroner's remarks were 
interrupted by a commotion in the crowd, 
occasioned by the sudden and violent entrance 
of a person into the room. The new-comer, 
a short, middle-aged, grizzled man, who 
carried a brown-paper parcel under his arm, 
thrust the spectators excitedly aside, and 
darted into the midst of the apartment. 

The Coroner (angrily) : "What do you 
want, sir ? This conduct is most unseemly." 

The man took the parcel from under his 
arm, stripped off the paper covering, and dis- 
played before the eyes of the spectators a 
brown leather knapsack, brass bound at the 
corners, and having the strap mended with a 
piece of twine. At this unexpected sight 
there was a movement in the crowd, which 
was as much of horror as of wonder. Sergeant 
Wallis and Mr. Lewis Staymer took a step 
forward, while both exclaimed at the same 
instant — " The missing knapsack ! " 

" I desire," said the man, quietly, " to give 
evidence in the case of Mr. Carboyne." 

The Coroner : " What do you know of the 
matter ? " 

" I know everything." 

" As an eye-witness ? " 

" As an eye-witness." 

" You were present when Mr. Carboyne 
met his death ? " 

" I was present ; nay, more — I was the 
cause of it." (Sensation.) 

"You wish to make a statement?" 

" Yes." 

"On oath?" 


The witness then took the oath, and at once 
proceeded to address the Court His speech 
was uttered slowly, clearly, and distinctly, and 
is given here verbatim : — 

" My name is James Milford ; I am by 
profession an aeronaut — it is just possible 
that you may have heard of me. Last Friday 
— the day on which this sad occurrence 
happened — I made a private ascent from 
Chester. I intended to make a journey of a 
mile or two at most, but when I attempted 
to descend I found that the escape-valve had 





stuck fast, and all my efforts to open ?t were 
without avail. I must have spent an hour or 
more in the attempt, during which time 1 had 
hvcn driving in a rising wind across North 
Wales. At last I desisted , and determined 
to extemporize a valve, as 1 had done once 
before, by cutting a small opening in the 
balloon and thrusting through it the neck of 
a beer-bottlej broken off, and with the cotV 
still in it By taking the cork in or out I 
was enabled to emit or check the flow- of gas, 
and it was not long before I was near enough 
to the ground to throw out my grapnel It 
dragged for some distance along the level 
summit of a cliff without finding anything to 
catch on, and finally dropped from the 
summit into a small bay formed by an in- 
dentation in the cliff I could see the road 
which ran along the cliff, and a man on horse- 
back riding on it Almost at the same 
moment I was menaced by a sudden danger; 
I saw that I must rise at once at least a 
hundred feet in order to avoid a pinnacle 
which lay directly in my path. I thrust the 
cork into the bottle-neck and threw out every 
ounce of ballast I possessed } which was 
about two hundredweight As I finished 
I heard a sudden and loud cry beneath 
me, and, looking downward, was horrified to 
see that my grapnel in its swing had struck 

by C_j 



the rider in the 
back, and had 
caught firmly in 
his coat The 
sudden rise of the 
balloon had taken 
place at the same 
instant, and had 
lifted the rider 
from the saddle, 
and then, his 
weight bringing 
the slant of the 
rope to the per- 
pendicular, had drag- I'd him several yards 
along the ground. Then, as the balloon 
rose, it lifted him clear off it, and it was 
at this moment that he uttered the cry 
which attracted my attention, I 
rushed to the cork and withdrew 
it ; but the escape of gas was no 
compensation for the tremendous 
loss of ballast In a few seconds 
the grapnel with its burden were 
above the cliffy which they had 
hardly cleared when the cloth 
in which the grapnel held 
suddenly gave way, and Mr. 
Carboy ne fell upon the level summit The 
hook of the grapnel had, however, passed 
under thj strap of his knapsack, which it 
lifted from his shoulders as he fell I after- 
wards drew it up into the car, and now 
produce it Th^ balloon, released from his 
wei lit, shot upwards like an arrow, and in a 
few minutes he was lost to sight Before 
this I could, however, distinctly see his friend 
searching for him in the roadway, and going 
towards the verge of the precipice, into 
which the handkerchief of the deceased had 
fluttered ; it having fallen from him, as did 
his hat, before the coat gave way. As for 
me> it was many hours before I could 
descend, and when I did so I was taken 
by some peasants swooning from the car. 
They tended me with every care, but 
until last night I was too ill to make any 
attempt bo travel Now, I have come here 
with all speed, having heard of this inquiry, 
and knowing that I, and I only, can prevent 
suspicion from falling on the innocent" 

The Coroner (turning to the jury) : 
"Gentlemen, I said just now that this case 
was the most extraordinary that has ever 
occurred in my experience, and though Mr, 
Milford's statement has explained by perfectly 
natural causes every detail of the mystery, I 
am bound to say so still" 
Original from 

and we approve of the 
camel and his cheapness. 
Then there is a 
proverb which aids the 
fraud — most proverbs, 
by-t he-bye, aid a fraud 
of some sort — a proverb 

about the last straw breaking the camel's 
back. What a glamour of oppressed, 
uncomplaining patience that proverb sets about the camel 1 You imagine the picturesque 
but inconsiderate Bedouin, having piled his faithful camel with everything he possesses, 




looking about for something else to crown the structure. There are all his tents, blankets, 
trunks, bags, rugs, hat-boxes^ umbrellas, and walking-sticks, with some grocery for Mrs, B, and 
a wooden horse from the Bagdad Arcade for the little B's. It seems a pity, having a camel, 

not to load it up enough, so he looks for something else* but 
can see nothing. Suddenly it strikes him that he has just used 
a straw to drink a gin-sling, and without for an instant considering 
what may be the result* he pops it on the top of the rest of the 
baggage. The patient, loving creature has barely time to give its 
master one pathetically reproachful look when its back goes with 
a bang. 

Now, this may be the way of the Bedouin, but it isn't the way of 

the cameL He doesn't wait for the last straw — he won't have the 

first if he can help it. There's no living 

thing in the universe that he wouldn't like 

to bite or kick; and when he isn't 

engaged in active warfare with creation 

in general, he is sulking and planning 


He equally resents being loaded 
or fed T or banged with a pole. He 
wants the world for himself, and 
finding he can't get it, sulks 
savagely. He has to be shoved 
his knees and tied down by the 
neck and fore-legs before 
while the operation is in 
and growls like a whole menagerie, and rtaches 
about — he can reach — to masticate people. When 
he is loaded he won't get up — but he will grunt and 

When at last he is persuaded to stand upon his legs 
he devotes himself to rushing about and scattering his load far and wide 
— and biting. The unhappy Bedouin's household furniture, hat-boxes, and 
wooden horse are scattered all over the Syrian Desert, and the unhappy 
Bedouin himself is worse off than at the beginning; and still the insatiate 
creature bites. The Bedouin swears — in his own way — hopes that jackals 
may sit upon the grave of the camel's grandfather, and so forth — and gathers 
his belongings together preparatory to beginning afresh. 

And then, after all this — and supposing that all troubles are overcome 
and the journey ends without mishap — that delightful camel objects to the 

baggage being taken off, and growls and 

bites, It is not mere poetic imagery, it 

is a wicked joke to call the camel the 

ship of the desert. To call it even the 
Paterson of the desert would be to cast 

he is loaded, and 
progress he grunts 


tions upon the business conscientiousness of 
vgry respectable firm. One is disposed to 
be the harder on the camel because of the 
goody-book fraud, which is a double-barrelled 
fraud, teiling wonderful stories of the 
camel's speed. As a matter of fact, the 
ordinary pack-camel, lightly loaded, is barely 
up to three miles an hour. 

He is a provident beast in the matter of 

drink. He takes a very long drink when 

he can get it, and saves it, neatly stowed 

a way * against the drought. As a camel gets 

older and more experienced, he lays by more 

and "^i^jfYfflracffiSSfl 81 ln ^ C ° UrSe 



of a long and thirsty life at five or six quarts. If he lived 
a little longer he would probably add whisky* 

He is also provident in the matter of food. He feeds on 

his hump. I see an opportunity of dragging in a joke 

just here about a perpetually sulky man doing the same, 

but I refrain, I take the occasion to renounce and 

disclaim all intention 



of saying anything 
about the morose 
camel always 
having the hump, 
or of his contrary 
disposition giving 
him a greater hump 
the more he has to eat. 
It is vulgar as well as old. 
The only variation in the facial expression of 
the camel takes place when he eats. Ordinarily 
the camel wears an immutable, deceptive, stupid, 

good-natured grin. This 
is a wise provision of 
Nature, leading people 
to trust and approach 
him, and giving him 
opportunities to 
gnaw their faces off 
with suddenness and 

less difficulty ; or guilelessly to manoeuvre the victim near a wall, 
against which he can rub him and smash him flat. 

His feeding manners are vulgar, although superior to the tigers. 
When hz eats he uses his immense lips first as fingers to lift the 
desired dainty. Then he munches in a zig-zag^ using alternately 
his right upper teeth on his left lower, and vice versd t and swinging 
his lips riotously, And he chucks up his nose, taking full advan- 
tage of his length of neck in swallow- 
second. Here at the Zoo probably the first of 

the camels to attract the visitors' attention is Bob the Bactrian, 
in his semi-detached villa under the clock. 

Bob the Bactrian is a handsome old ruffian when his coat is in 
full bloom. He sheds twenty -four pounds of hair every year— 

and a pound of camel-hair is 
a good deal It is frightful to 
think of the miles of water- 
colour sketches which might 
be perpetrated with the 
brushes made from twenty- 
four pounds of camel-hair, 
Self the keeper has sufficient 
of it by him to weave enough 
cloth to clothe a regiment — 
and with good raiment, 

I think Bob is a little vain of his fine beard and 
long hair. He poses about in picturesque attitudes 
when it is in good condition, and nothing short of 
a biscuit will make him disturb the curve of his 
neck. Bob is a military character — he came from 
Afghanistan — and carries out the part with great 






Offer Bob a biscuit, and, as he hangs his head 
over the railings in slobbering expectancy, he will 
" mark time " regularly with all four feet Rose, 
the cross-bred Baetrian, lives next door to Bob, 

and there is some- 
thing about the pair, 
and about their 
whole environment, 
that makes one 
think of them in 
the characters of an 
area belle and a 
fascinating guards- 
man ■ particularly as B©b is, 
I believe, a sort of cousin. 
The railing between diem helps 
the illusion, just as the clock- 
tower above them gives a tone 
to Bob's military bearing — 
being dimly sug- 
gestive of the Horse 

Between Bob in 

full bloom and Bob 

in a state of moult, 

there is a world of 

difference, A sorry, 

ill-upholstered, scraggy shagbag is Bob in his periodical 

moult All his beard -all his magnificent frills gone; 

a bare, mangy hide with a small patch here and there of 

show. Poor Bob feels his out-at- 

He hides all day in the innermost \ 

only ventures 

when Rose is 

the floor 



clock, and 




inadhesive hair is all his outward 
elbows state keenly, and lies low. 
recesses of his state apartment under 
forth when the gates of the Gardens 
asleep. Sometimes the presence of a piece of biscuit 
of his front garden will tempt him sorely for hours, 
till he ventures forth after it, first looking cautiously 
about from his door to make sure that he is un- 

Neither his periodical seediness of appearance, 
however, nor anything else under the sun will prevent 
Bob demanding his meals. He keeps Self the 
keeper up to his work, If at any time it should 
occur to him that business in biscuits is becoming 
slack, or that another meal is due — neither a rare 
contingency — Bob walks to his back door and kicks 
with his fo re-fee t, like a rude boy. The keeper 
must come then, because Bob's foot never improves 
a door. 

Among Bob's accoutrements a feared and detested 
place is held by a big leather muzzle, a thing its wearer 
regards with mingled feelings. He isn't altogether 
sorry when Self proceeds to buckle it on, because it 
that a pleasant walk about the grounds is to ensue 
bitter, bitter, poor Bob's lot to walk among human 
teeming with many buns— buns shut out for ever by that thing of 
leather! He sees the elephants caressed and fed ; Jingo and Jung 

Perchad amble good-humouredly about, swinging their trunks in affable freedom right and 
left, ard collecting many a pleasant morsel ; while .he^-th^.-^ bearded, the 







military Bob, in that vile nose-cage — but there! He turns his 
head the other way, and tries to look as though he hated buns- 
He tries not to see them, but they glisten, gloriously brown and 
sticky, from all sides— somehow there are always more buns 
about when that muzzle is on. And Bob becomes a greater 
misanthrope than is natural to him ; which, speaking of a camel, 
is saying muck But what living thing in all these Gardens 
could spend half its waking hours in painfully assuming a 
contempt for buns without becoming a misanthrope? 

Rose, who is cross-bred, is, in sheer spite of the hint the 
word carries, rather an amiable creature, and very rarely cross — 
for a cameL There has even been no necessity to give her a 
nose-ring. She is not always of an industrious appearance, having 
a habit of lying about in an Orientally lazy heap — so Oriental a 
heap that one instinctively looks for the hookah which Rose ought, 
in the circumstances, to be smoking. 
The local flies try a little annoyance now and again, but 
they have learned a great respect for a earners le 
of reach, I remember a country bluebottle — a very 
raw and self-con *ident country bluebottle — who made 
a rash onslaught upon Rose without proper consider- 
ation. I knew this fly — I had met him once before, 
when he madly attempted to burgle a tin picnic box 
containing nothing. 

I felt interested to observe how he would get on 
with Rose, knowing well that, without asking advice 
of any regular local bluebottle, he would assume her 
to be a mere scraggy town cow. This is just what 
he did. Rose stood, looking perfectly amiable- — all camels 
look amiable ; it is a part of their system — and, to an 
unaccustomed eye, quite unconscious of the country blue- 
bottle's existence. Still, there was a certain optical twinkle 
which should have warned that bluebottle. But, heedless 
all, he rushed forward and made to settle on Rose's shoulder. 
With a nonchalant swing the near hind leg came up, and th; 
bottle was brushed off his legs. He buzzed about for a lit 
puzzled. This was quite a new motion in cow-legs — some town improve- 
ment^ evidently. So he settled— at least he tried— near the top joint of that 
hind-leg, where the foot couldn't reach him. Rose looked calmly ahead at 
nothing, and moved no limb but the near fore-leg t which swung quietly back, and — 
that bluebottle was projected into space at the instant his feet were landing. 

He gathered himself together, and sat on the roof of the 
stable to think it over. Meanwhile Rose stood at ease, without 
a further movement The bluebottle considered the question 
strategically, and made up his mind that on the 
chest, just before the joints of the fore-legs, 
thing could touch him. He tried it But 
only arrived on the spot simultaneously 
hind-foot, which swung neatly out 
between the fore-legs and drove that 
bluebottle into the surrounding atmos- 
phere once more. And still Rose 
gazed amiably at nothing, 

Losing his temper he made straight 

for her nose ; but the nose never 

moved The hind leg came up once 

more, however, and made the rout complete, 

Baffled and disgusted, the rash bluebottle flew 



Bob, Now Bob was just indulging 
in a yawn of the very largest size y 
and that rash bluebottle, never 
looking where he was going- 
Well, well, it was a sad end for 
a bright young bluebottle, just 
beginning to see life. And still 
Rose gazed amiably at nothing, 
standing just as that departed blue- 
bottle first saw her 
But the aristocrat among the camels 
here is Tom, who is white, and 
a rarity. He was captured 
in an Egyptian fight, and 
was little more than half- 
grown when he arrived , 
but has increased in 
seven years, and will 
grow no larger now — 
nor any more savage. 
This latter contingency 
has been provided for 
by a neat little iron ring which 
wears in his nose. 

At the Zoo the camel's naturally 
unamiahle temper is not aggravated by 
overloading ; nobody looks about for 
that last straw after the two or three 
small boys have mounted, Wherefore 
tfurstr camels are as well 
behaved as camels can be. 
Tom doesn^t playfully try to 
smash his keeper against the 
wall — at any rate, not quite 

by Google 

Original from 



so often as he did at first — chiefly because of that piece of jewel lery in his nose. That 
has made a very peaceable dromedary of Tom, for when he takes a walk the keeper snaps 
one end of a neat little piece of chain upon the ring, and keeps the other in his hand. 

And Tom will do anything rather than have 
his nose pulled. 

At a time when Tom is in the seclusion 
of the stable — perhaps invisible — approach 
the rails with an air erf* having a biscuit 
about you. Promptly Tom will emerge 
from his lair, with a startling stride and a 
disconcerting reach of nerk. 

Make no further sign of biscuit. Then, 
if Self be by, you shall find that he has 
imparted to Tom a certain polish of manner 
surprising in a cameL 
Self will tell Tom to 
beg, and Tom will beg 
immediately; the supplica- 
tion consisting in standing 
on three legs and throwing 
the right fore-foot negli- 
gently across the left knee. 
Thereat you probably give 
him a biscuit But if 
you remain obdurate, or 
have come biscuitless, 

Tom's politeness evaporates at 
once. He turns his back upon 
his visitor with a certain studied 
rudeness of manner — a contume- 
lious nose-in -air tail- turning — 
and stalks disgustedly back to his 

Any other camel will do this, 
and it is natural- Why do these 
human creatures come to the rails 
unprovided with biscuits ? What 
are they fur ? So the camel turns 

up his nose — and a camel can do this; watch him — 
and flounces away. 

Now, I like Bob, and I like Rose, so far as one may 
like a camel ; and I like Tom, so far as Tom will allow 
it But that doesn't in the least reconcile me to the 
juvenile natural history book. You can't conscien- 
tiously look Bob or Tom in the face and call him 
a ship of the desert, or a ship of any kind* You 
might possibly manage to work up a small fit 
of sea-sickness if you rode a Heine — the swiftest 
of the dromedaries — at his best pace ; because 
at a pinch the Heirie can make ten miles an hour, 
shaking his unfortunate rider's joints loose, even 
though he be swathed in many swaddlings. But neither Boh nor Tom is a Heirie, Tom 
is a fairly quick dromedary, but Bob, if he will pAirdon! 1 pip-X[| pft^mtg{b id>pj-| AS" ^<Rply an ordinary 

3 5* 


slow camel; nothing more than the u hairy scary oont "' sung by Mr. Kipling. In Mr, 
Kipling's ballad Mr. Atkins is made to call the camel many things, but never a ship of the 

desert. Co nt rari w i se, 

"the commissariat cam-u-el, when all ifl 

Bald and done, 

'E's a devil, an' a ostrich, an r a orphan child 
in one/* 
There you have the character of the 

camel in a dozen words. 

Two attendants have the camels in 

the Zoo, Mr. Self and Mr, Toots, The 

former is the officially appointed keeper, 

with the regular badge and uniform. 

He has been 

master of the 

camels for 

more than 

forty years, 

and knows 

a family (hu- 
man) infant 

represent a- 

tives of which 

he has led 

round on 

camel -rides 

for three 

What Self 


fads and fancies of 
nobody to tell 


observant person, is 

u the 

£- doesn't 

know about 

the little 

hairy scan' oont " there 

He is a wary and 

When a man has been 

forty years watching the affably - smiling camel, and 
looking out to avoid being suddenly jammed to death 
against a wall, or having his face bitten off and 
his feet viciously trodden on, wary observation begins 
to be natural with him. 

Mr. Toots occupies quite a different position in 
life from Mr. Self, being a cat, Mr Toots, as fits 
his name, is a quiet and reserved cat Bob and Rose 
are quite friendly with Mr. Toots, and will, if possible, 
avoid stepping on him, which is an astonishing degree 
of amiability in a camel; but, of coarse, so far as 
Rose is concerned, she is an unusually amiable 
camel. Mr. Toots is a noticeable, carroty cat, 
and you can't deceive either Bob or Rose with 
a substitute. Once Mr. Toots was unwell, and a tabby 
was installed, as a temporary experiment, in his place. 
Bob was determined to suppress all spurious imita- 
tions, and the last worldly sensation of that unhappy 
tabby was conveyed through the medium of Bob's 
fantastic toe. Therefore Mr, Toots still maintains 
his monopoly, and may sit among Bob's or Rose's 
feet with confidence. Tom, however, doesn't know 
him, and won't. So that Mr, Toots, with the wisely 
accommodating spirit of his namesake, says — "Oh, it's 
of no consequence, thank you — no consequence ifftnvcDCip 



all, I'm sure," and gets 
away from Tom to 
bask in the magnificent 
patronage of Bob the 
Bactrian and the lady 
next door* 

Cantankerous and 
uncertain as is the 
character of the camel, 
there is a deal of hu- 
man nature about him. 

When he has packed 
into his character all 
the possible devil, and 
ostrich, and orphan, 
there is still room for 
much human cussedness, 
and it is there. 

You shall see it even 
in his very face. There 
is a world of expression 
in a camel's face, mis- 
leading often to a 
stranger, but with a 
human deceit 

The face lends itself 
particularly to varied 
and strongly marked 
expression. The nostrils 

will open and close with 
a great flexibility, and 
the lips and eyebrows 
are more loose and 
mobile still What more 
machinery may the 
camel want for the facial 
expression of his ill 
qualities ? With such 
a lip and nose he can 
sneer as never can hu- 
man thing ; this at the 
humble person who 
brings him no biscuit 
He can guffaw ccarsely 
— and with no sound 
beyond a rare grunt 
Furious malice is native 
to his face, and a self- 
sufficient conceit and 
super ci liousness comes 
with full feeding, Even 
in his least expressive 
slumber the camel is 
smugly complacent, 
although his inborn 
genius cannot teach him 
that a piece of card- 
board is not a biscuit 

by Google 

Original from ' 

Shafts from an Eastern Quiver, 

By Charles J, Mansford, B.A. 


T looks as if the grass had 
been set on fire/* responded 
Denviers t in answer to a re- 
mark of mine, when I called 
his attention to a long, 
parched tract which formed a 

striking contrast to the rich verdure around it. 
"Very likely that is the reason/' I assented ; 

"still, it seems strange that the rest of it 

should have escaped," 

"The Englishman speaks truth," interposed 

Hassan, "the cause of what we see is far 

stranger indeed than those who have not 

travelled hither before would be inclined to 


" I have not the slightest doubt hut what 

Hassan has some mysterious 

and wholly imaginary expla- 
nation of it to offer," said 

Denviers to me in a 

tone, then turning to 

Arab, he asked : — 
"Well, Hassan, can 

enlighten us on the matter ? 

What do the people of Kho- 

rassan conjecture 

" Which is another way of saying that you 
prefer to tell us the cause when we shall be 
unable to test its truth, I suppose," interposed 
Denviers. The Arab shook his head gravely 
in sign of dissent. 

11 Allah forbid ! " he exclaimed. " If you 
think that is my motive you wrong me indeed, 
since my only desire is to keep you from the 
danger which falls upon those who follow the 
black horsemen ; for the parched tract which 
you see here, just where the desert gives place 
to the emerald verdure, has been made by 
the trampling of the hoofs of Nisha's phantom 

"Then, Hassan," said Denviers, quietly, 
IE I think we will pitch our tent yonder, " and 
he pointed to where a grove of majestic wal- 

about it ? " 

11 It is no idle 
rumour, sahib, which 
is told concerning 
this scorched tract," 
answered our guide, 
" for they who have 
been the cause of 
it are surely the 
scourges of the plain 

through which we are passing, for tears 
and lamentation in despoiled households do 
they leave behind them, in obedience to the 
commands of Nisha, the Seer. But you are 
wearied with the long journey through the 
desert of sand and need the repose which 
the tent affords- At some other time I will 
explain the cause of this strange tract, even 
when we are safe in the lovely city of 
Meshed, or wander amid the plashing foun- 
tains and clustering roses of Nishapoor." 


nut trees stood out against the grey sky ; 1( the 
night is fast closing in upon us, and I suppose 
that spectres, even in Persia, wander abroad 
in the still small hours, much as they do in 
other countries." 

u Jest not, sahib," said Hassan, in the grave 
tone which he usually assumed when moved 
by the recollection of some Eastern tradition j 
" if you care to hear the story I will narrate 
it to you, but, by the beard of the Prophet, 
blame not Hassan if evil befall the English- 




men afterwards, for it is a true saying in the 
land of Khorassan that by his horsemen 
the Seer has lured many a brave man on to 

" Pitch the tent, Hassan," said Denviers, 
impatiently, and as he spoke he dismounted 
from his steed and led it by the bridle 
towards the spot which he had pointed out 
to the Arab. A few minutes were sufficient 
for our horses to be securely hobbled, and 
as they leisurely cropped the grass before the 
front of the tent, we assumed a recumbent 
position while Hassan began his improbable 

"In the days when the Nasranee were the 
ruling people of Persia," said the Arab, 
"Nisha, the Seer, was a mighty power in 
the land ruled by On, the descendant of 
the Sun. He it was who discovered a secret 
potion by which he gave renewed life to On. 
So much did the monarch honour Nisha that 
the latter's name became famous through all 
the spreading lands, which extended from 
fair Chaldea to the silvery islands that float 
like crystal stars in the Eastern seas, wherein 
even now the descendants of the Shintos 

"But these horses, Hassan," interposed 
Denviers, " what had On to do with them ? " 

" Patience, sahib," responded Hassan. 
" To Nisha, the Seer, came many wise men 
of the East, sent by the monarchs who ruled 
the lands far and near, for they feared On 
and would fain drink of this potion. But 
Nisha, faithful to On, loyally kept the secret, 
and was rewarded by the favours of his royal 

"To On were born many son's, none of 
whom could hope to obtain sway over the 
land, since their parent was apparently 
rendered immortal. Among them was one 
who was proud and scornful, and wished to 
possess his father's throne, so he sought, but 
in vain, to win Nisha over to his cause. He 
knew that once each year the Seer prepared 
the potion in a crystal goblet, and that when 
the exact hour arrived On drank of it, and 
so there was added another year to his span of 
life. It fretted the son's proud heart to think 
that one day he would lie cold and passion- 
less in the tomb while his father should still 
live on and reign over the land where 
diamonds and emeralds are the gems which 
adorn a sceptre. 

"About him this son gathered a great 
following of youths as reckless and impetuous 
as himself, and together thqr formed a plot 
by which their leader might obtain the throne 
which he coveted. When the stated day 

arrived, On sought the abode of the Seer, 
and entered the tower wherefrom the stars 
could be seen, and where Nisha nightly 
increased his lore. As the monarch passed 
up the winding stairway a sound smote upon 
his ears. He halted for a moment and 
looked uneasily around, but nothing could be 
seen, for the alarmed conspirators hastily hid 
themselves behind the projecting angle of a 
mighty pillar. As soon as On had thrown 
himself upon some cushions to rest in the 
star-lit chamber of the Seer until the 
appointed moment came when he was to 
drink the potion, the youths stole softly 
behind the heavy tapestry, and noiselessly 
making slits in it with the points of their 
daggers, watched the monarch and his 
subject. Nisha gazed at the stars in silence 
for hours, then at last he moved to a 
strangely - carved idol, and touching it, a 
hollow was revealed from which he drew 
forth the crystal goblet. Pouring into it a 
colourless fluid, he next threw into it what 
appeared to be a ruby, and as a faint sweet 
fragrance, like that of a blossoming almond 
vale, seemed to perfume the apartment, he 
placed the goblet in the hund which the 
monarch eagerly extended to grasp it. 

" The draught was at the lips of On when 
out sprang those who had been concealed by 
the hangings. In a moment the crystal 
goblet was dashed violently from the 
monarch's hand, and, falling to the ground, 
shivered into a thousand pieces ! Among 
the conspirators, the frenzied On seemed to 
rest his eyes upon one alone — his own son ! 
With a wild cry of anguish he covered his 
face with his hands and fell dead upon the 
marble floor ! So the son of On obtained 
the throne and tried to make the Seer his 
friend, but the latter resolutely shunned the 
advances of the haughty ruler, and shut him- 
self up in the tomb of On, into which few 
indeed dared to follow him. At last this 
monarch in turn grew old, and determined 
to wrest the secret from Nisha, but upon the 
band of horsemen sent to capture him and 
to carry him a prisoner to the monarch's 
palace, -Nisha laid a potent spell which bound 
them motionless until the time when he had 
need of them. Thus the son perished when 
old age seized him, Nisha living to enjoy the 
tidings of the monarch's death. Then, it is 
said, he began to take vengeance upon the 
people who had supported the hated one's 
cause, for he had heard that they said On 
had lived so long that he grew hateful to 
them, and their changeful hearts longed for a 
new ruler, "Through all the years which have 




passed Nisha still has lived, and his vengeance 
is not yet complete. The wayfarers who 
cross these plains at night have indeed had 
reason to lament the terrible crime of the son 
of On and the exaction of its requitement* 
Upon them suddenly steals a band of horse- 
men who snatch up the incautious wanderers 
and bear them away shrieking at their doom, 
for they art rarely again seen alive by mortal 
men* The people of Khorassan declare that 
they are gathered round the dead body of 
On in an enchanted crowd, and hold up their 
living yet lifeless hands in vain supplication 
to Nisha, who stalks among them a strange 
semblance of humanity* Distorted with age, 
his long, shrivelled arms reach to his feet as 
he holds the captives motionless with the 
glare of his red* bird-like eyes." 

"A most interesting story, Hassan," said 
Denviers, when the Arab had finished ; "and 
you really believe that Nisha has lived since 
the time when the Chaldeans studied the 
stars from the top of Babel's uncompleted 
tower ? " and he whistled irreverently* 

"The mind of man is a well unfathomed, 
none know its depths," responded Hassan. 
"If Allah and the Prophet will it so, why 
should not Nisha become immortal ? " 

"Well, Hassan/' I interposed, "I must 
confess that I should like to see both the 
horsemen and the tomb before accepting 
your story as true*" 

The Arab looked gravely at us as we 
reclined upon the cushions of our tents* 

41 Rest now," he answered, "and your guide 
will watch at the door of the tent. If the 
band of riders should chance to-night to cross 
the path yonder, I will surely awake you 
that your eyes may rest upon them." 


Worn out with the days of long, dreary 
riding which we had endured in our journey 
from Demavend to Khorassan, we had sunk 
into a profound sleep, when Hassan entered 
the tent and hastily aroused us* 

"See for yourselves, sahibs!" he ex- 
claimed, "the band is returning to Nisha, 
and bearing away some shrieking captive!" 
We sprang to the door of the tent and looked 
out. The sky was growing overcast with 
clouds, through which at fitful intervals the 
light of the moon struggled and lit up the 
scene around* A breeze sprang up for a few 
minutes, and as the clouds scudded before it, 
there was revealed to us 2. strange spectacle* 





A band of scantily-attired horsemen be- 
strode about twenty black steeds, while across 
the front of one of their number was thrown 
the writhing body of a man whose cries were 
expressive of the utmost terror. As the 
horsemen moved at a somewhat swift pace, 
we noticed that a sound was made by the 
hoofs of the horses, although their riders sat in 
their saddles as motionless as the dead, One 
strange circumstance was noticeable, which 
was that the horsemen were apparently of a dif- 
ferent race to the man whom they were 
carrying off; indeed, they resembled the 
natives of Africa in colour so far as we could 
make out when the moonlight streamed down 
upon them. 

" Hassan is certainly mistaken in suppos- 
ing that these horsemen are spectres, or 
their steeds either," said Denviers^ "the hoofs 
of the horses make too much noise for us to 
accept that theory." Then, turning to the 
Arab, he exclaimed: — 

" The horses, Hassan, quick ! for your 
life !" It took scarcely a minute to unhobble 
them and for Denviers and I to mount our 
sturdy Afghans, yet the distance between us 
and the retreating band had increased con- 
siderably. Without waiting for saddles we 
flung ourselves upon the animals and set off 
at a breakneck speed. The black horsemen 
soon appeared to become aware of our pur- 
suit of them, for they quickened their pace 
considerably, and as they did so the captive, 
hearing the heavy thud of our horses' hoofs 
striking the ground behind, redoubled his 
struggles and cries for help* 

Digitized by ^OOQ It 

On we went, faster and still faster ! Flinging 
the reins from our hands, we leant forward 
and clasped the necks of our horses, as they 
flew along like the wind. The clouds above 
us grew more compact and lowering, and 
for a few minutes the only guide which led 
us on in our mad career was the mournful, 
appealing cry which came from the captive, 

" How much longer can we keep up such 
a pace as this ? " I gasped out, as Denviers 
seemed to be leading a little, while my own 
steed was beginning to show signs of ex- 

"Can't say," he answered laconically, "we 
started to save this man, and the horses can 
have no respite till that is accomplished." 
His words inspired me with new confidence, 
and I urged on my horse with all the 
expressions which I had heard Hassan use 
when coaxing it The rumble of thunder, 
followed by a few very heavy drops of rain, 
convinced us both that to our other perils 
would be added the discomfort of riding 
half clothed and with our heads uncovered 
through a storm the severity of which, at 
that time of the year, we knew from experi- 
ence would be considerable, although it 
would possibly be of short duration. The 
rain now began to descend in torrents, the 
effect upon our horses being happily to 
refresh their flagging energies, for they 
seemed to dash onward faster than ever 
The man's cries were borne louder upon our 
ears> and we knew that we were drawing 
nearer to him, so that the prospect of 
rescuing him se-zmed lu us more hopeful. 


*5 8 


Suddenly the storm broke. From across 
the mountain peaks darted a vivid flash of 
lightning, followed instantaneously by a ter- 
rific peal of thunder, which made our 
frightened horses gallop forward entirely 
beyond our control On we went, till sud- 
denly, to our horror, another blinding flash 
revealed that before us was a chasm stretch- 
ing as far as the eye could reach. 

With all our might we struggled to restrain 
the horses, but in vain. Over the 
side of the chasm apparently those 
whom we were pursuing went ; there 
was another wild shriek from the 
captive, and the next moment our 
horses, recognising the danger when 
too late, reared almost perpendicularly, 
then fell headlong down the abyss ! 

I closed my eyes and felt 
a strange choking in my 
throat as we went sheer down, 
and the horse quivered in 
terror beneath me. A sen- 
sation of drowning 
appeared to ensue, 
then the air seemed 
to fan my cheeks, 
and wondcringly I 
opened my eyes 
again and looked 
around for my com- 
panion. We had 
fallen into a deep 
ravine, through 
which swept a wide 
mountain torrent, 
and the horses were 
now swimming 
rapidly with the 
fierce current. 

"What an es- 
cape ! " I called out 
to Denviers, as I 
saw him still cling- 
ing to his horse. 

" I don't know 
that we have much 
to be elated about," 
he answered, u the 
sides of the ravine 

are almost perpendicular, apparently ; to 
climb them is impossible, and it is quite 
likely that the current may bear us away into 
some greater danger." 

Again the cry of the peasant sounded 
upon our ears — this time beyond the seeth- 
ing waters, 

"Keep with the stream," Denviers ex- 
claimed, " he has evidently been carried down 


that way. After such an effort as this we 
shall surely rescue him ! " 

"Don't you think that this torrent is 
becoming more rapid ? " I asked, as my 
horse breasted the waters and carried me 
close to Denviers side. He looked at the 
current steadily, then replied : — 

"I am inclined to think that it is ; watch 
carefully, and, if you see anything to cling to, 
make for it, and I will turn my horse's head 

that way and try 

^^^^^^^ma^^^m to follow you." 

I was now lead- 
ing the way by a 
few yards, and soon 
found that my fears 
were well grounded, 
for the stream be- 
gan to sweep along 
at an alarming rate, 
while in the dis- 
tance a roar as of 
aters confined to 
narrow limits 
seemed to 
indicate that 
further danger lay 
ahead. We knew 
that an attempt to 
return would be use- 
less, and on looking 
up observed that 
the sides of the 
ehasm now met in 
a vaulted roof of a 
reddish colour, 
through which a 
light seemed occa- 
sionally to steal, 
from which we con- 
cluded that the 
storm was over, and 
that the moon was 
shining forth once 

The noise of the 
waters now became 
almost deafening, 
and we could des- 
cry that ahead of 
us was a narrow passage scarcely large 
enough for a man to pass through, for 
rocks seemed to rise like buttresses on either 
side of it I pointed to the narrow defile, 
and asked my companion : — 

" Do you think that we can get through 
that on horseback ? " 

" I am afraid not," he answered, " and, 
considering the splendid way in which our 




horses have behaved, I think we ought to 
give them an equal chance with ourselves." 
As he spoke, Denviers unclasped his arms, 
which had hitherto been round his horse's 
neck, and a moment afterwards was swim- 
ming with a grand stroke amid the waters. 
I raised myself from my own horse, and, 
plunging into the stream, followed my com- 
panion, who was within a few yards of the 
rocks on either side. 

" Grasp the buttress on the left," he called 
out to me ; "I will hold on to the other." 
I drew a deep breath, and waited for the 
torrent to hurl me forward. One slip, and 
I knew that a moment afterwards my body 
would be sucked into the seething gulf in 
front, and then all would be over. My hands 
clasped the buttress firmly, and, steadying 
myself for a moment, I drew my body slowly 
out of the water. When I had climbed up 
hand over hand in this way for several yards, 
I saw Denviers was already leaning over from 
what appeared to me to be a huge stone 
lattice. He stretched out his hands, and, 
seizing me, dragged me half senseless and 
exhausted behind it Resting there until 
the strain of the efforts which I had made 
seemed to become less oppressive, I began 
to observe, in the dim light, the shape of the 
bases of the pillar which rose from the stone 
platform on which we were. I traced out 
the representations of two gigantic feet, just 
as Denviers looked upwards and exclaimed 
suddenly : — 

" Look at the shape of this support, which 
reaches to the arched top of the chasm ! 
Surely it is some monstrous idol ! " We 
drew close to the lattice work and, standing 
with our backs to the latter, found ourselves 
facing an enormous idol, which we sub- 
sequently discovered was the grim guardian 
of one of the entrances to the tomb of On. 

Its repulsive-looking head, adorned with 
enormous ears, was of a type similar to that 
of the Nubian race, and was bare of covering. 
Across its swarthy breast passed a carved 
band which interlaced a garment bound at 
the waist by a belt which supported the 
representation of a loosely -hanging garb 
reaching to the knees. In one of its giant 
hands it held a curved sword, while the other 
was raised to grasp a serpent which twisted 
in mazy coiU about the idol's body. 

"The entrance to the tomb of On, with- 
out doubt," said Denviers. "I wonder if we 
shill ever get out of it again ! " We moved 
past the enormous image and found our- 
selves facing a massive stone door, which 
yielded readily as we pressed upon it, and 

then a moment afterwards we saw before us 
a wonderful natural hollow apparently in the 
heart of the mountain, for we were in the 
tomb of On ! 

Jagged and red, from the sides and roof 
of this gigantic tomb huge boulders protruded, 
while, lying stretched upon a low bier, was 
the body of the dead On, apparently 
embalmed, and conspicuous among the 
others round it by its length; for the dead 
king must have been much beyond the 
stature of the present race of men. A look 
of infinite despair was upon his face ; the 
hands of the monarch were joined upon his 
breast, while in them was clasped the handle 
of a massive sword, the blade of which rested 
upon his silent form. Peering cautiously out 
from the position which we had taken 
behind one of the many boulders which 
strewed the floor at intervals, we soon dis- 
covered the real use to which the tomb was 
put. Close beside the entrance through which 
we had come was another, through which 
the moonlight streamed into the tomb, and 
apparently led in a direction the same as 
the ravine into which we had leapt From 
this we conjectured that, had we ridden a 
little further up, we might have succeeded in 
turning our horses' heads into the entrance 
of it, and so have avoided the peril in which 
we had been placed. The man's cry had 
not come to us from in front, as we had 
thought when breasting the waters, but from 
this second entry to the tomb. Looking 
down the entrance we saw several of the 
horses behind which we had ridden haltered 
by a rope to some projecting fastenings in the 
rocky wall. 

The tomb itself was no mere charnel house 
despite the many bodies which we saw 
ranging through it. By the side of the dead 
On we observed the form of one who must 
have died of extreme age, and from the 
description which Hassan had given us, we 
judged that this was the body of the Seer 
whom the credulous people of Khorassan 
believed to be still alive. 

The real ruler of the tomb was a negro 
much like the riders whom we had seen and 
tracked over the plain. From the throng of 
men which surrounded him and were evi- 
dently narrating the capture of the victim who 
stood among them, we easily distinguished 
this leader from the abundance of the jewel- 
1 „Ty which he wore. His limbs were scantily 
clothed, but his aims and ankles were heavily 
bound with bracelets, while round his thickly 
matted hair where^k Reached his retreating 



forehead was a single hoop of 
gold, in the centre of which a 
jewel was set, and which heigh- 
tened with its flashing light the 
contrast between its white bril- 
liancy and the intense black 
colour of the wearers face. 

"Let us get closer to thenv ! 
whispered Denviers, "and try "to 
learn what the fate of the cap- 
tive is intended to be," We 
moved nearer to them, cautiously 
hiding behind another boulder, 

"At present we are unob- 
served/ 1 I began, " and the 
men evidently find too much 
pleasure in taunting their cap- 
tive to set a watch upon the 

'si-akec Sip 

tomb/' As if the hideous negro wished to 
contradict my words, a shrill scream of 
laughter rang through the tomb ; then a 
voice exclaimed : — - 

" Come nearer, thou enemy of On, the 
mighty one, come t that thou mayest join in 
the number that are doomed to appease his 
Great Shade.' 1 We saw the captive fling 
himself wildly at the feet of this strange 
being as he cried : — 

11 S{>are me, and I will worship at the tomb 
of On until the sands of my life are run out ! " 
The negro uttered an appalling laugh of 
derision as he answered : — 

" Art thou not of the plain of Khorassan, 
over which pass many whose wealth makes 
the eyes of my slaves glad when they look 
upon it?" 

"Frank," I whispered, "this is a band of 
marauders who have migrated to this tomb, 
and who rob the people around with impunity 
because the credulous people think they are 
not mortals." 

" Exactly what I thought when Hassan told 
us about them, but listen to the questions 
which they are putting to this captive/* he 
replied, We ceased our conversation and 
heard the captured one reply : — 

" I swear by the Koran I am poor; I could 
not pay one-tenth of such a sumJ^.-rf 


" Then there is 
for thee no escape," 
answered the black 
ruler, "surely thou 
shalt die!" He 
made some move- 
ment with his hand, 
in response to which 
the men around 
attempted to seize 
their captive. The 
latter turned and 
made a sudden at- 
tempt to escape. 
He had darted past 
the boulder behind 
which we had hid- 
den, when the fore- 
most of the slaves 
reached him. Just 
as he did so Den- 
viers wrenched the 
sword from the 
hands of the dead 
On, near to which we 
had stealthily crept, 
and thrust himself 
between the captive 
and his pursuers* 
ik Back ! ?J he cried, "lay but a hand upon 
him and all the magic of the East shall not 
save the one who does so from the fate which 
he deserves." 

The men stopped for a moment, astonished 
at our sudden appearance, and then, as we 
heard the captive retreating down the tomb to 
the second entrance, we turned and followed 
him + In a moment we had flung ourselves 
each upon one of the horses that stood there, 
and slashed hastily through the halters which 
held them, and then, as the captive led the 
way, we dashed wildly through the ravine 
closely followed by some of the horse- 
men. It was a race for life that we 
long afterwards remembered, but, as we 
urged on our horses, we found that our 
pursuers were dropping behind, and looking 
back we saw them in a discomfited crowd 
watching us with surprise as we galloped 
over the plain after [Kissing through Lhe 
ravine. We stopped at last, and while the 
captive insisted on riding home on the horse 
which he had so strangely acquired, we 
dismourted, and turning the animals in the 
direction whence they had corns, saw them 
rush riderless back towards the tomb, 

The peasant, poor fellow, was full of grati- 
tude to us for rescuing h : ;i, and called c. 
Allah to rewafiGU^alMtfiS parted with him scrr.e 




distance after we 
emerged upon a 
green and level 
plain, and having 
scanned it nar- 
rowly, my com- 
panion pointed 
towards the East, 
exclaiming as he 
did so :— 

"If I am not 
mistaken, Har- 
old, yonder are 
the trees under 
which we pitched 
our tent ? 

I looked in the 
direction indica- 
ted and saw the 
majestic grove of 
walnut trees 
which we had 
left when we set 
out to follow the 
black horsemen, 
Hassan, who 
was within the 
tent, came out 
as he heard foot 
steps approach- 
ing: — 

"The Sahibs 
have lost their 
horses?" he 
said, in his grave 
have been absent 
many hours, which 


inquiring tone, " and 
from the tent for 
brought much anxiety 

to their faithful 
slave, " 

"Well, Has- 
san, as that is 
the case," said 
Denviers lightly, 
"you will have 
the pleasure of 
purchasing two 
more for us." 

"The lightest 
word of the 
Sahib is as a law 
unto Hassan," 
responded the 

u No doubt!" 
said Denviers, 
then turning to 
me he added : — 

" And I dare- 
say he will make 
a tolerably good 
bargain, for our 
faithful guide 
doesn't usually 
forget himself 
on such occa- 
sions ! " 

Indeed, the 
amount of back- 
sheesh which our 
grave Arab levied 
before the day 
was over from a village horsedealer of Sul- 
tanabad was a convincing testimony to the 
truth of Frank's remark. 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

the age of twenty -seven, becoming a Q.C, at 
forty-two. He enjoyed one of the largest 
practices ever known, his power of cross- 
examining witnesses and of addressing the 
jury being unrivalled. He was engaged in 
the prosecution of the Claimant in the inemor- 
able Tichborne Trial 1 «J^J^(f l P^B* e ^ 

torn a -PAofo. M riiBSENT da v. 





m - 1 


^^f* r " ^ja. jClP** 

1 IW 'i# . ^'Wi 

1 ™ . 

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^ 1 **i«ni* 


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BP"/., , . if? wid 

l .- «** *»*» -- 

Ji\V' ' H 


ACE 6 


Born 1847, 
HIS inimitably funny actor and 
entertainer was the son of a 
humorous lecture r ; and, after 
being educated at th: North 
London Collegiate School, com- 
menced life as a reporter at Bovir Street, at 
which occupation he continued till he was 

thirty, becoming well known as an amateur 
actor and comic singer of great promise. In 
1877 he made his debut on the London stage 
%s John Wellington Wells in "The Sorcerer, 11 
and afterwards played in all the Gilbert- 
Sullivan operas until 1889, Since that time 
he has chiefly restricted himself to entertain- 

From to Photo, fejrj 

ACE 35. [flirupp. BirminaKam. 

ments, writing many of the bright sketches 
in which he appears, His latest production 
is the music of " Haste to the Wedding " at 
the Criterion, 



From a Pbm* by] 

l/W^n, • 

Frvm a Photo, ly) rKtsKHT £AY* Wl/fced Ellin. 




Born 1853. 

the son of Mr, 
Thomas Francis 
D ick 

see, the artist, from 

whom he received 

he exhibited his well- 
known picture, entitled 
m Harmony/' which has 
attained such wide-spread 
popularity as an etching. 
At the age of twenty-eight 
he was elected 
an A. R. A.; his pro- 
motion to the rank 

Fn>m a Photograph 

Protti a pfftio !i]t 

[Thfi tswion Stereo. i>* 

his first instruction in art 
At the age of seventeen 
he entered the Royal 
Academy as a student, 
and two years later gained 
a silver medal for a draw- 
ing from the antique. 
At twenty-five he obtained 
a gold medal for an 
historical painting, 
" Elijah confronting Ahab 
and Jezebel in Naboth's 
Vineyard/' and in the fol- 
lowing year exhibited the 
picture. At that time he 
also worked at drawings 
for book illustrations, and 
made some designs for 
stained glass. Mr. Dicksee 
was only twenty-four when ■ 

4 *. From a Photo* by] rfc&SENT dav 

Fntm n 1'h-iU't. 'j^I a •-■ j.-)- [ Xt-sbe piAtUf I, Utn'UiA, 

of Royal Academician 
took place a few months 
ago. Among the best 
known of Mr Dicksee's 
pictures may be men- 
tioned ft Evangeline/' 
(1879), "The Love Story' 1 
(r883), "Romeo and 
Juliet " (1884), "Memo- 
ries" (1886), "The Pass- 

ng of Arthur" (1889), 
"The Redemption of 

rannhauser ,J ( 1 890), to 
which may now be added 
" Startled/' exhibited 
the Royal Acaderrfy 
the present year as 
diploma work, on 

\tiaitt II at* rtw HW^L+I W 


election as an Acade- 




From a /"toto. (ipj Afl[ r j, [J7tfli ,t sattji U rBi jj topib 


Born 1858. 


TREY, author j act or j and manager, 
is the fifth son of the Rev. J. W. 
Hawtrey, arid was l>orn at Eton, 
where his father was an assistant 

master, and was educated at Eton and Oxford 
At the age of twenty- three he went on the 
stage in "The Colonel," and three years later 
wrote the phenomenally-successful play, "The 

Frttm u j \w ■ fjyj 

{tiimi •!*. if; .Sum* Kion 

Private Secretary'/ which was performed no 
fewer than 844 times consecutively, and which 
has lately l>cen revived with fresh success. 

From a Photo, bs\ 



From a / J ftuft> 1 by j 

ACE 10. 

I Hili* tt $ttunda-*> Eton 

Since that time Mr. Hawtrey has produced 
several plays^ of which the most successful, 
M Jane," had a very long run. 



ta!te her place as an actress of the greatest 
charm and promise. Her impersonation of 
Marguerite and Olivia at the Lyceum dur- 
ing Ellen Terry's indisposition received the 


AGE [ j. 



Mrs. Cyril Maude, was 
born at Manchester, her 
father being Mr, Samuel 
Emery, the well-known comedian. 
Miss Emery appeared in public at 
the age of eight, as The Child^ in 
"Green Bushes, 31 at the Alexandra 
Theatre, Liverpool, Some time after 
this she was sent to school for several 

From a PhtiUj. btf\ AC -i£ x g, \Drwliiain and BtaJte. Frvm a PhiAo. h$\ I'fcE.sENT UAY. \ Alfred Jtf/w. 

years, and did not return to the stage until warmest praise. Her latest success has been 

she was sixteen, when she began at once to in the part of .Lady Windermere. 

Digitized by VjOOQ J C" 




G.GM.G,, K-CB-, V.C 

Born 1838. 

WOOD, the 
son of the late 
Rev, John Page Wood, 
was educated at Marl- 
borough, and served with 
distinction in the Naval 
Brigade during the 
War, but in 

1855 he joined the Light Fmma 

1 o 


[Chalk J>ra!PUip P 

From a I'ainii 

the Ashantee Campaign, 
and led the advance to 
the river Prah. For his 
services at the capture of 
Coomassie he was made a 
CB. In the Zulu War 
of 1879 he led the flying 
column on CetewayVs 
Kraal, and played a bril- 
liant part in the battle of 
Utundi In the Boer 
War of 1 88 1 he became 
Commander-in-chief at 
the disaster of Majuba 
Hill, and was also com- 
mander of the Army of 

AGE 36. 
Frnm a FAiitnpraph, 

Dragoons as ensign, served through the Indian 
Mutiny, when he gained the Victoria Cross for 
conspicuous bravery. In 1873 he took part in 

Occupation in Egypt the year following. 
Such is the briefest possible summary of an 
exceptionally brilliant career 

From a Photo. by\ 

* lo&g 

<£ Fbx. 


I PtototfTdjA. 

His Little Girl ; or, Worked Out 

By Pleyd,:ll North. 

Author of Monsieur h Curi ; and other Tales- 



HE heart of an English valley ; 
a stretch of green slope, where 
oaks and elms had grown 
through slow centuries into 
grandeur ; and through the 
1 fields, like an arrow of silver, 
the clear waters of the I^ean. 

Down by its banks a young girl, wandering 
alone j singing as she went, her white gown 
shining in the sunlight 

Possibly it was the effort of a very 
young and sympathetic nature, seeking 
some faint expression for a sense 
of joy and beauty instinctively felt 



She thought she was alone ; but presently 
above the high reeds she saw the head and 
shoulders of a solitary angler. Then she 
stopped singing and went on cautiously. 

This young lady's chaperon was sitting up 
among die elms sketching. She had warned 
her charge not to wander too far away, 
and of the possibility of encountering 
strangers; some of the "all sorts of 
people" — t ou ri s t s a n d wa n de rers — who 
were said in summer to delight in 
fishing the waters of the Lean. 

There was that, however, in the 
shape of the head and shoulders, seen 
outlined against the sky, which at- 
tracted Miss Rawdon, and she did 
not turn back as she might have 
She was very young, and the world pro- 
mised to be a fairy tale f with always an 
impending transformation scene of entrancing 
possibilities* Only three weeks ago she had 
left school ; the school-house at Norwood 
and the care of the two kindly Misses lake, 
its mistresses, bounded all the horizon of her 
childish recollection, Now she was longing 
to come into touch with this world of 
wonders, the smallest incident of which 
promised an adventure* 

When she reached a willow, half a field's 
length from the angler, she stopped. The 
trunk partly concealed her, and she could 
watch proceedings comfortably. 

Nothing might have come of it She 
might have returned to Mrs. Montresor sit- 
ting under the elms with no distinct increase 
of impression, beyond the outline of a hat 
i.: a pair of shoulders; hut swish through 
the long grass came something — straight in 
her direction. 

It was an Irish terrier, as keenly excursive 
as herself. He had caught sight of the white 
jam behind the willow trunk, and, forget- 
ful of his master and his master's interests, of 
all a dog's duty, he started to investigate its 

11 Back, RtitogM^W beast ! " 




The call was imperative; but for once 
Rollo paid no heed. He had the bit of 
something white in his mouth in a trice ; the 
next moment, with much sagacity, he was 
fawning and fondling the little hand laid upon 
his tawny coat. 

Instinct told Miss Rawdon it would be 
better to come from behind her retreat ; so 
she stood forth in the flicker of sunlight and 
shadow, a maiden revealed- 

Her hat was in her hand> her brown hair 
was all tumbled 
and blown ; the 
folds of her white 
gown hung simple 
and straight 
round her slight, 
lissom figure. 
She was young, 
and fair, and 
sweet, and the 
dog, fawning 
upon her, had 
nestled his m uzz 1 e 
in her hand. 

The fisherman 
forgot the already 
startled fish ; he 
left his line in the 
bushes and came 
towards her, 

"Down, Rollo 
— down, you dog, 
you f! 

Why do we 
love to picture 
the birth of the 
greatest joy which 
earth has to give 
out in the open, 
where the wind 
comes laden 
with the songs of 
a thousand birds, 
the scents of a 
million of flowers 
that have lived 

and loved and died ? For the sake of our poor 
humanity, let us still think that to love purely 
is to draw nearer to God — is a step forward 
upon the way that shall lead to His disclos- 
ing. It is at the time of this awakening of 
our greatest capabilities for joy or sorrow 
that we are most willing to believe Him near 
—then, and at the time of that other awaken- 
ing which we are apt to call death. In both 
cases the issues are so tremendous, the weak- 
ness of our finality turns outward, seeking 
help from the Infinite, 

A lOogle 


Like death, love is no respecter of persons, 
time, or place — he comes upon us when and 
how and where he wills ; but, if we may 
choose, let it be far from the jarring discords 
of the world, the flesh, and the devil — for 
one moment let us enter Eden, let us stand, 
pure, holy, unstained before God, 

The fisherman had no idea that anything 
tremendous was happening to him as he 
stood, hat in hand, apologizing for his dog. 
Only the day had suddenly grown more 

fair, his heart 
younger, God 

Ellinor thought, 
"What will Mrs, 
Montresor say ? 
He is worth look- 
ing at" And she 
also felt happier ; 
but in the mean- 
time she must 

"Gh, it doesn't 
signify at all, 
thank you," look- 
ing at her soiled 
gown ; "I love 
dogs, but I am 
afraid I have 
spoiled your 

" I have had 
none to-day — -the 
sun is too bright" 
The dog had 
by this time re- 
treated to his 
master, and Elli- 
nor felt that she 
must make a 
move in the di- 
rection of her 

" My friend is 
up there,*' she 
said, pointing 
vaguely in the direction of the trees, " and I 
must go back to her I hope you will have 
better sport — though not a change of weather," 
she added j laughing gaily, " for the sake of 
our luncheon," 

She turned away; but to lose her just then 
was not within the calculations of the fisher- 

"Forgive me," he said, with an air of pro- 
found anxiety, " but there is a bull up there 
on the hill. He is, I know, apt to take 
umbrage at strangers — in fact, he belongs to 


Vol, iv. — 35. 



Sir Arthur, my father. If you will allow us, 
Rollo and I will see you safely over the 

A mild herd were gr art rig on the hill. 
They showed no signs of ferocity ; but it was 
impossible to say where the hull might be 
hiding. And why should this pleasant* 
mannered person tell a story ? 

She felt rather amused. The first young 
man to whom she had spoken, and, lo, he 
was walking composedly at her side ! 

** Is this land your father's? I hope we 
are not trespassing ? " 

"Oh, dear no — nn end of people come 
here to sketch the ruins," 

" I am Miss Rawdon, of Firholt," said 
Ell in or, a little stiffly. She did not care to 
be confounded with "no end of people." 

" Oh," he said, eagerly, " I know, Your 
father has bought that property — a splendid 
property it is, too." 

" I am expecting my father to-night." 

'* That's jolly for you*" he said sympa- 
thizing^ " At least, I suppose it is. 3 * 

She looked at him gravely. How was it 
that she felt she could say to this stranger 
what was in her heart 

"is it not strange?*" she said, almost 
below her breath. " I have never seen him 
— that I can remember. I have been at 
school all these years, and he has been in 

"Well, that is rather a stunner — to drop 
all at once into a parent when you are full 
grown ; but I expect it will be all right" 

He smiled at her so kindly that the 
commonplace words seemed the deepest 
sympathy. By this time she had taken his 
image with some clearness into her mind, as 
she never again quite lost it. A tuff, well- 
made man of thirty, with kind, grey eyes that 
smiled pleasantly ; a broad and rather high 
forehead, where the hair already grew a 
little thin about the temples. The rest of 
the features were straight and finely cut ; the 
chin slightly pointed. 

would have 
liked to paint 
him, 11 she 
thought; ^one 
of those old 
men, Velas- 
quez or Rem- 

They had 
reached the 
bridge, and the 
vision of Mrs. 

Will you 

said EUinor, 
come and be 

Montresor, standing up and looking for her 
charge, presented itself Catching sight of 
her in her present alarming vicinity, she 
hurried forward. 

" There is my 
rt Mrs* Montresor. 
introduced to her ? " 

She felt pleased at the consternation 
visible on her guard ian J s face as she drew 

"This is Mr, Peyton, Mrs. Montresor; he 
has kindly protected me from a ferocious 
bull in the other field. It seems we are 
upon Sir Arthur Peyton's ground.* 

" I am very much obliged to Mr. Peyton ; 
but you should not have wandered so far 
away, Ellinor, and you are quite heated- 
Come and sit down." 

u I hear you have been drawing the ruins. 
I dabble in colour a little myself," said 
Peyton* He seemed to have no intention of 
leaving. He went back with them to the 
shade of the elm trees, and stayed chatting, 
directing most of his conversation to Mrs. 
Montresor, until Jacky (the page) appeared 
with the luncheon basket, prompted by his 
own inner cravings. Then at last Mr. Peyton 
remembered the claims of his fishing tackle. 
He held EIIinoKs hand for a moment as he 
said farewell. 

11 1 hope we may soon meet again," he 
said. " My mother has been meaning to call 
upon you ; but she has scarcely been able to 
leave the«house for some weeks." 

When he was gone they spread the 
snowy cloth upon the grass, and such a 
collation as women love> cold chicken, and 
a ftesh young lettuce, a bottle of Sauterne, 
and crisp pastry sheltering green goose- 



RESTING AGAI*^f|lS|lfci" irf.O'HTJtfSMH's KNEE.* 




Afterwards Ellinor lay with her head rest- 
ing against Mrs. Montresor's knee, gazing up 
through the trellis work of green to the blue 
depths beyond She dreamed peacefully a 
vague, fanciful dream, half pleasant retro- 
spection, half anticipation. She felt that 
her morning's encounter had broken the 
isolation of her life. Strange that it should 
happen upon this day, of all others ; for its 
close was to reveal to her her one near link 
with her kind — the unknown father who yet 
had shaped her destiny. Miss Rawdon was 
distinctly an heiress, the sum of her expec- 
tations had been vaguely hinted at as nearly 
half a million. She had stepped from her 
school life to this glorious independence ; to 
be mistress of Firholt, " the plane in Hamp- 
shire " bought and fitted up for her reception. 
And the royal giver of all this was her father, 
known only through letters delivered to her 
through the medium of Miss Lake. 

Her school days had been watched over 
vicariously by Messrs. Ridgway and Smithson, 
solicitors; but now, he was coming — the being 
who should crown his gifts with his presence. 

She had often pictured him. Tall she 
fancied him, with hair turning iron grey ; 
perhaps a little stoop ; tired from the toil of 
the years in which he had amassed the wealth 
which he was coming to share with his little 
girl. That was the name he gave her in his 
letters. Short letters they had been, ex- 
plaining little, but often repeating his desire 
that she should fully qualify herself for the 
position it would be hers to fill — tilling her 
that all the hopes and desires of the writer's 
heart were centred upon his little girl, and 
that he was always " her affectionate father, 
Matthew Rawdon." 

To-day her dreams were clearer than ever. 
They seemed a very foreshadowing of his 
presence. It was the restlessness of expecta- 
tion which had drawn her to persuade Mrs. 
Montresor to come out to spend these last 
hours in the open fields. 

It was nearly five o'clock when they started 
on their homeward drive. On reaching Fir- 
holt they were met by the housekeeper with 
the news that Mr. Rawdon had already 
arrived — two hours before his time. Ellinor 
waited for no comment, she flew up the 
steps, and across the hall, to the small 
drawing-room where, she was told, he was 
awaiting her. 

An older woman would have paused — tried 
to prepare herself for the meeting — Ellinor 
thought only of the end of suspense. She 
threw open the door. 

He had seen the carriage drive up, heard 


her coming ; he was standing in the middle 
of the room awaiting her. 

" Father ! " then she stopped short 

Was this he — this her father ? There 
must be some mistake. A small man stood 
there. His right hand held the wrist of his 
left, as if seeking support even from himself. 
One foot shuffled nervously over the other. 
His clothes hung loosely, and set badly. He 
was spare and thin ; his scant hair was iron- 
grey and stubbly, inclined to stand upright ; 
his beard was stubbly also, and apparently 
of recent growth. Above all, he did not look 
a gentleman. He came forward and spoke. 
His voice was a redeeming point ; it was soft 
and musical — coming from such a man, it 
was a surprise. So were his eyes, when he 
lifted them as he drew near. Habitually they 
were downcast He came, leaving the custody 
of his own wrist, and rubbing his hands 

" Is this," he said," is this my little girl ? " 

She lifted her head and blushed. Was it 
for him, or for her thoughts of him ? 

" Yes, father, I am Ellinor." 

He leant forward and kissed her brow — 
he had no occasion to stoop. As he did so, 
his eyes met hers. She saw them, wistful, 
pleading, as though asking forgiveness for 
she knew not what, perhaps for his presence. 
Her heart reproached her; everything was 
his, even herself. It was a relief when Mrs. 
Montresor came in. If she felt surprise, she 
was too clever to show it, and her somewhat 
effusive greeting gave Ellinor time to recover 
herself. She gave her father his tea; he 
begged her to. His face lit up at every 
small office she performed for him. He 
watched her, he gloated over her, her fresh- 
ness, her sweetness, her beauty. 

" My little girl," he said to himself, more 
than once, hugging his own wrist 

Mrs. Montresor saw the strained look 
upon the girl's face, the trembling of her 
hands among the tea-cups. As soon as the 
function was over, she proposed to conduct 
Mr. Rawdon over his own house. 

" Messrs. Ridgway and Smithson were so 
good as to consult me about the arrange- 
ments," she said. " I hope they will meet 
with your approval." 

"Sure to do that, ma'am — sure to do 
that," he answered. 

"Ellinor, dear," said Mrs. Montresor, 
"you look tired. Had you not better go 
and take your hat off? Meet us in the long 
gallery. We will wait for you there." 

Ellinor was thankful for the respite, for 
the chance of .solitude. In safety within her 





own room, she flung herself upon her bed ; 
she was overwrought, over-excited s and heT 
dismay found vent in ready tears, a fit of 
childish, heartbroken sobbing, 

" What should she do ? What should she 
do ? Who was he ? What was he ? And 
the Peytons were coming to call ! " 

Then, the fit of crying over, and being a 
child still, and simple in her ways, she knelt 
beside the bed, and prayed for strength to do 
her duty. When Mrs, Montresor came to 
seek her nearly an hour later, she was sitting 
calmly by the window. 

u You should have come down, Ellinor, M 
she said, busying herself about the room ; 
" your father was disappointed*" 

" I was very tired, dear Monty. I am 

There was a quiet, constrained tone in the 
young voice that was new to it. Mrs. 
Montresor was a good woman, but of coarser 
stuff than her charge. She went over to her 
side. "Tut, dear child — don't fret — he has 
kind eyes — you must take care of him — 
^3 00,000 — he's a prince compared to many 
a man Fve seen feted for half the money." 

Ellinor drew back a little* 

" It is time to dress for dinner," she said* 

" I mustn't vex my father 
hy being late. Is he gone 
to his room ? w 

Instinct had revealed 
to her her lesson* There 
was a burden she must 
stoop to carry, but to the 
world she must walk up- 

With curious consis- 
tency she chose the 
handsomest dinner dress 
in her wardrobe for her 
toilette ; one which she 
had put aside as unfitting 
her years. The train 
and bodice were of grey 
velvet, falling open in 
front over a petticoat of 
brocade and old lace- 
Indeed, it was better 
suited for a woman of 
forty ; but, when her 
maid had gathered her 
hair into a tight knot on 
the top of her little head, 
and she had fastened a 
great bunch of roses in 
her bosom, she looked a 
quaint and dainty lady T 
and moved with a newly 
born dignity pretty to see. She glanced at heT- 
self in the pier-glass. ** Had it been different, 1 * 
she thought, 4t I could have put on my white 
gown. I could have remained young. Now 
I see why he educated me ; I must make 
it up to him," 

He was waiting for her in the large drawing- 
room ; not in evening dress, but wearing a 
loose black coat and white waistcoat* He 
looked at her with pride, almost with awe, as, 
her head held high, she swept into the room. 
The dinner passed off better than she had 
hoped. She noted that he was cautious and 
quick of observation. He watched her and 
Mrs. Montresor from beneath his eyelids* 
and followed their lead ; also he talked little. 
Mrs. Montresor was right in her predic- 
tion that the county would call, Before Mr* 
Rawdon had been a fortnight at Firholt the 
carriages began to roll up the drive with 
considerable frequency. Ellinor took her 
line. She was a little on the defensive* 
dignified, very quiet, defying criticism. In 
the daytime she dressed with marked plain- 
ness, in the evenings with marked splendour. 
It was wonderful where the girl had learnt 
that she could no longer afford to be childish. 
Among the first corners wero the Peytons ; 




Guy, with his mother. Sir Arthur was laid 
up with the gout. The visit was not alto- 
gether a success. Mr. Rawdon was at home, 
and there were no other visitors. He always 
struck strangers in the light of a surprise. 
He stood in front of Lady Peyton, clasping 
and unclasping his wrist, shuffling his feet, 
replying in short, jerky sentences to her 
efforts at conversation, and calling her 
" Ma'am." Guy, after the first shock, was con- 
strained and polite; a different man from the 
pleasant stranger Ellinor had chatted to in 
the fields. 

She wondered, did he repent having 
brought his mother to the house. She 
imagined bitterly the criticisms that would 
occupy the drive home — could she have 
been present in body, as she was in imagi- 
nation, she would scarcely have been re- 
assured. Guy was moody and silent, and 
his mother looked at him anxiously. She 
had divined something beneath his anxiety 
that she should call upon these new people. 
u You had better go, my dear," her husband 
had said; ",£300,000! and if he should 
re^iiy take a fancy to the girl, and she is 
presentable ! We want the money badly 
enough, goodness knows. In fact, he must 
marry money. ' 

Lady Peyton had not thought it wise to 
repeat this advice to her son ; now she was 
feeling very much put out. The girl was 
well enough, more than presentable, and 
showed her good sense in her dress. But 
the man ! What a price to pay for the old 

She turned suddenly to her son, after 
thinking of these things in silence for a 
quarter of an hour. 

" What a man ! " she said, irritably. " He 
is like some small City clerk on a hundred a 
year — a badger ! " 

"He might be worse," said Guy, ner- 
vously; "he might be obtrusive." 

"I don't know that it would be worse. 
You would expect a man with nearly half a 
million of money to be assertive — but this 
creature — one asks, who can he be ? How did 
he come by it? He hasn't the brain — he 
doesn't look one in the face — he is mean as 
well as low bred ! " 

It was seldom Lady Peyton spoke with so 
much vehemence ; she was terribly put out, 
and she overshot the mark. The following 
day Guy again called at Firholt ; rode over 
alone ; he remembered a suggestion he wished 
to make to Mr. Rawdon about the fishing. 
He had thought over the situation ; had 
weighed and justly appreciated the change in 

the girl which had perplexed him the day 
before, and thrown him out He saw her 
determination not to be taken apart from her 
father, and it turned admiration into a serious 
and tender respect He felt a chivalrous 
desire to atone to the girl who so bravely set 
herself to cast aside her frivolities and light- 
heartedness, and fight society with this terrible 
little man by her side. 

He found Ellinor sitting under the brown 
beeches on the lawn. Mr. Rawdon was not 
at home, which, perhaps, was a relief to 
everyone concerned. Tea was brought out 
under the trees, and Mrs. Montresor came 
with her work. Perhaps the threatened 
destruction of an intercourse which had 
promised so much made its renewal sweeter. 
At any rate, from that afternoon the story of 
these two people ran with even facility to its 
climax. Guy Peyton asked Ellinor to be his 
wife in a simple, straightforward way about 
three months after their first meeting. Tragedy 
and parting seemed so far removed from their 
fate, when once the difficulty of her parentage 
was faced and accepted, that there was no 
occasion for much protestation. The un- 
doubtingness of their love made it simple in 
expression ; they knew that it dated from the 
day they had met by the Lean, and Rollo 
had effected their introduction. Sir Guy and 
Lady Peyton were forced into cordiality, 
for the dower offered by Mr. Rawdon was 
simply magnificent. The ^300,000 proved 
no dream ; it was solidly invested, and he 
proposed to settle almost the entire sum 
upon his daughter on her wedding-day, 
retaining only a sufficiency to supply the 
most simple needs. He also signified his 
intention of vacating Firholt for her use 

"Perhaps," he said, gently, "he would 
visit her occasionally — for himself rooms in 
town would be more to his taste." He ex- 
plained this to Sir Arthur, who felt compelled 
to remonstrate, although secretly he thought 
the arrangement in every way admirable. 
Lady Peyton was exultant With Mr. 
Rawdon's withdrawal, the one fatal drawback 
to the marriage was removed. But Matthew 
Rawdon said nothing of his plans to his 

It was within a few months of the date 
fixed for the wedding that a great dinner 
was given at Firholt At the last moment 
a note arrived from Lady Peyton ; could 
Ellinor find room at the table for a friend, 
an American on a visit to Europe, who had 
appeared suddenly at the Hall, bringing 
letters of introduction imoossible to neglect ? 



EUinor was receiving to-night in the great 
drawing-room, and she looked fit to reign 
there. She wore a dress of golden-hued 
chiffon. Across her bosom and on the skirt 
were sprays of daisies, and the heart of every 
daisy was a blazing sapphire — a type of the 
girl's nature she was totally unaware of. 

Her father had taken up his favourite 
position with his back to one of the fire- 
pJaces, and she stood near him. Mr. Rawdon 
had improved during the last few months. 
He shuffled less; his clothes, thanks to 
JEllinor, were irreproachable, and, especially 
since his daughter's engagement, he had 
grown daily more calm. 

The Peytons were announced. 

Sir Arthur and Lady Peyton, Mr. Peyton, 
and Mr. ; the name was lost 

Ellinor saw a spare, tall man, keen-faced 
and vigilant He was bowing before her. 
She heard a slow, slightly nasal monotone 
beginning — 

" I must apologize, Miss Rawdon " 

He had reached the slight elevation of the 
last syllable, when an irresistible impulse made 
her turn from him to her father. 

Matthew Rawdon had grown deadly pale. 
He had leant back against the mantel, 
clutching himself nervously. 

" Father!" 

He gave a swift motion of the hand, 
bidding her be still, and with an effort 
recovered himself. 

A moment later she heard again the 
American's voice. 

" You have a fine place here, Mr. Raw- 
don, one of the finest I should say in this 
fine country." 

Her father made some inaudible reply; 
the curious pallor was still upon his face, 
but dinner was announced; she had no 
chance of speaking to him. During dinner 
she watched him anxiously. She saw that 
he was more than usually nervous ; that he 
drank a good deal of wine. Once or twice 
she caught a penetrating glance, swift and 
direct, thrown by the American to that end 
of the table. 

Throughout she seemed to hear above 
every other sound the slight rise and fall of 
that slow, clear monotone, and felt she hated 
the man. It was a relief and reassuring to 
turn her head and catch Guy's smile, and 
she was thankful when she could give the 
signal for withdrawal. 

After the ladies had gone, the American 
had the field to himself. His metallic bell 
gradually silenced the other men, and he got 
the ear of the table. 

Digitized by LjOUV It- 

Mr. Rawdon's chief merits as a host were 
that he gave good wine, good dinners, and 
left his guests entire freedom. He usually 
headed the table in silence, with the result 
that, on the present occasion, his white, 
exhausted face escaped remark, except from 
Guy Peyton. Matthew Rawdon had now 
something more than toleration from his 
future son-in-law— partly on Ellinor's account, 
partly on his own. 

The unobtrusive self-effacement of the 
little man appealed strongly to those who 
came within his immediate influence. 

The American was dilating on the fortunes 
made and lost on the other side of the Atlantic. 

" A curious case," he was saying, "a curious 
case I knew once — a poor, wretched little 
clerk in an office in Boston city — he had a 
wife and child and one hundred and fifty 
pounds a year. One fine day he presented 
a cheque at a bank, signed by one of the 
best - known names in the city — a cheque 
for three hundred dollars. The cheque was 
a forgery, sir — a forgery! The man was 
caught, trying to escape to Europe, and sent 
to prison. He had been speculating, gam- 
bling — buying small shares out of petty 
economies ; everything failed. When he had 
no more, he forged a name. Poor little chap, 
he threw himself at the feet of the man he had 
wronged and begged for mercy ; but he went 
to the hulks — his wife died of a broken heart 

" Now, sir, for the re-markable point 
While that man was serving his time, some 
darned sentimental fool died, and left him 
every penny of his co-lossal fortune. His 
time served out, the man went to Europe, 
where he was unknown, to spend his money. 
When I saw him again, sir, he was about to 
ally himself, through his daughter, to one of 
the oldest and proudest families of this proud 
old country. He had changed two letters of 
his name. The name of the clerk, sir, was 
Daw " 

There was a sound as of a blow, a clatter 
of silver and glass. The host had fallen 
forward in his chair ; his body lay across the 
table, the arms stretched out. 

" Where is my father ? " 

Guy Peyton was by Ellinor's side in the 
drawing-room. Nearly half an hour had 
elapsed since the abrupt conclusion of the 
American's story. Mr. Rawdon had been 
carried from the table, but Guy had taken 
care that no rumour of alarm should reach 
Ellinor until he himself could go to her. 

"He is not quite himself; he is in the 



2 75 


"What is the matter? Why was I not 
told? I must go to him*" 

" It is not serious. My father is with him, 
Don't go, Eliinor, It was a slight faintness, 
that is all Don't let people imagine any- 
thing has gone wrong. I asked Mrs. Mon- 
tresor to go down," 

" Are you sure ? Would he rather I 
stayed here?" 

"I am quite sure he would rather you 
stayed here, and I also, Ellinor*" 

She obeyed him, but she was uneasy with 
foreboding, especially when Sir Arthur did 
not return, and longed to see the last of her 
guests, that she might be free. 

In the library lay the master of Ftrholt 
He had shrunk in this last hour. He was 
more wizened ; his hands and feet seemed 
drawing themselves up into clothes that had 
suddenly grown loose and baggy ; his face 
was livid, even to the lips. He lay with his 
eyes closed. 

Sir Arthur Peyton was walking up and 
down the room, limping still from the gout, 
his face working ; he was in a terrible 

"You own to it — that this man's story is 
true ; that you have plotted to bring disgrace 
upon an honourable house ; added crime to 
crime, the taint of it to fall upon the chil- 
dren of my son ? " 

The shrivelled figure on the couch 

" I believed that it would never become 
known. I did it for her," 

** Known or not known, the disgrace was 
there— the d — — disgrace ! Good God ! 
how can I tell what Guy will do ! The 
eicposure alone " 

by \j, 


** Must that exposure come ? " said Mr, 

Rawdon, faintly, 

"Come? who is to prevent it?" said the 
man of title " The scandal will half kill 
Lady Peyton. To be sure I have stopped 

that American's mouth for the present. 

No one but he and myself know for certain." 

A faint tinge of colour was coming back 
to Mr. Rftwdon's face. He reached a cordial 
that was upon a table near, and drank it 
Then he stood upright There was a touch 
of dignity in his bent figure, his thin hands 
were folded quietly, his feet shuffled no more, 

" Sir Arthur, when I forged that cheque, 
my wife was dying, and I had no money— 
none. I had begged five pounds from the 
father of the man who dined at my table to- 
day, and he refused it; then I used his name. 
Now I am going to beg once more — for my 
daughter — for Ellin or. Stop this thing from 
becoming public ; save her from knowing. 
It will be better for you, too; and I— I will 
go to-night I cannot stay here. I will 
write to her — telling her that the love of the 
old roving life is upon me — what you will 
I cannot live long ; I know it The attack 
I had to-night was from the heart." 

" And my son ?" 

" Tell him if you think it right ; do as you 
like. Send him abroad. I will tell Ellinor 
she must wait for my return, but let it fall 
upon her gradually — gently ; do not break 
her heart," 

There was something in the absolute sim- 
plicity of the man's pleading that touched Sir 
Arthur's heart — not an unkindly one ; also 
the plan proposed seemed the best for them all. 

He did not know that Matthew Rawdon 
looked to the possibility that, with his self- 


z; 6 


efface m en t, his crime might be forgiven — to 
his little girl ; that he hoped much from Guy's 
strength and Sir Arthur's need of that 

Sir Arthur hesitated "I 
think/' he said, slowly, at last, 
"it will be the best plan*" 

"You consent, then? 
You can assure this 
man's silence " 


"I consent And as for Mr — Mr. , 

yes, I can silence him*" 

When at length Ellinor was rid of her 
guests, she went to seek her father. She found 
that he had gone to his room, and that the 
door was locked. 

He answered back to her inquiries that he 
was better — anxious to sleep ; she might go 
to bed without fear. She went back to Guy, 
who was waiting in the drawing-room. He 
had declined a seat in his mother's carriage, 
and meant to ride home, Ellinor slipped 
her arms about his neck — 

M Guy, what is the matter to-night ? Some- 
thing has happened, or is going \o happen. 
What kit?* 

He gathered her in his arms, crushing the 
chiffons of her yellow gown — 

** Nothing but your own nervous fears, 

"Guy, we have never talked much about 
our love. Tell me now how much you love 

"An idle question, Nell. I love you, 
dear. If you were alone, and poor " 

" And dishonoured — say dishonoured, 

by LiOOgle 

He paused a moment, then said quietly — 
"And dishonoured, Nell — outwardly; in 
your own pure heart you never could be — 
you are mine; the one woman for whom, by 
God's help, I live or die." 
She clung to him — 
" Thank you, Guy." 
" It is nonsense," he said ; 
"it is you who give me every- 
thing. If I loved you less I 
could not take it. You believe 
that, Nell?" 

11 Indeed, I do." 
She lifted up her face to 
say good-night Suddenly he 
caught her back to his arms. 
"Oh, my love, my love, I 
almost wish these things might 
come upon you, that I might 
prove it." 

When the quiet darkness of 
night had settled down upon 
Firholt, the door of its master's 
room opened softly. Treading 
as a thief in his own house, 
Mr. Rawdon stole out He 
glided, a small dark blot, 
through passages where a faint 
moonlight from time to time 
illuminated lis shrinking 
figure, until he reached the 
door of his daughter's room. 

He paused, listening. All was so quiet 
within, he ventured to turn the handle. 

The stillness told him that Ellinor was 
asleep. Treading on tip-toe he stole across 
to the bed. There was sufficient light for 
him to see her face plainly, and, stooging 
over her, he kissed her lightly on the .ore- 
head — for the last time. 

The poor little outcast was crying; a tear 
was rolling down his cheek, but he wiped it 
away, lest it should fall upon her and waken 
her, following the light touch of his kiss. As 
it was she stirred a little in her sleep, and he 
drew back behind the curtain. He waited a 
few moments, then, without venturing to 
touch her again, he stole away out into the 
night Early the next morning Mrs, Mon~ 
tresor came to Ellinor's room with a letter. 
She looked grave and anxious. 

Matthew Rawdon had written to her f 
begging her to be herself the bearer of a 
letter to his daughter, and to break the news 
of his departure, 

" How is my father ? " asked Ellinor. 
" Has John been to him — have you heard ? " 
"Your father li^j been called away sud- 




denly on business, dear child He has 
written ] here is his letter" 

" What t without telling me ? And he 
was so ill last night ! " 

Matthew Rawdon, in writing for the last 


time to his daughter, had characteristically 
avoided much self-expansion. 

He spoke of his absence as necessary 
even for her own well-being, and begged her 
in the matter of her marriage to be glided 
by the wishes of Sir Arthur and Lady Peyton 
until his return. 

Ellinor read his words in silence. She felt 
that some heavy blow had fallen, although as 
yet she could not realize its extent or nature ; 
also she was wounded and amazed. Her 
father had already formed his plans and dis- 
cussed them with Sir Arthur when she bade 
him good-night at his door, and had said no 
word to her. It seemed that he had purposely 
avoided seeing her Had she known of his 
secret farewell, her pain would have been less, 
She might have turned to Mrs, Montresor for 
comfort. Now she was silent and tearless. 

She had scarcely left the breakfast-room 
when Lady Peyton arrived. Sir Arthur had 
taken his wife into his counsels, and she fully 
agreed in keeping such secrecy as might still 
be possible, It was a hard blow for her ; the 
sense of shame, of having been duped, added 
to the disappointment, the overthrow of all 
her plans, made it almost unbearable. 

She frankly expressed a wish that Mr. 
Rawdon or Dawson might never be heard of 
again— might put an end to himself — "it is 
the only thing left for the little wretch to do 
with any decency ," she explained. 

It was easy to induce the American to 
hold his tongue. He had done mischief 
enough already in satisfying a feeling of 
personal animosity. He had no wish to see 
the doors of a society he was eager to enter 
closed against him, as Sir Arthur assured 
him would infallibly be the case did he bring 
down further scandal upon his present hosts. 

It was clear that the breaking off of the 
engagement must come from Ellinor — there 
was no knowing what Guy's chivalrous notions 
might lead him into doing— and lady Peyton 
drove over to Firholt in the morning, while 
her son thought her still in her room. 

Her visit was a short one. 

She entreated Ellinor for her own sake not 
to seek to know the reasons of her father's 
conduct ; she told her that his last express 
wishes, left with Sir Arthur, had been that 
the marriage should be put off until his 
return, and implored her, for Guy's sake, to 
be guided by them. 

" And his return — when will that be ? " 
asked the girl, with blanched face, 

( * I — no one, I think, exactly knows." 

"And it is for Guy's sake you ask me this ?" 

11 Indeed it is — to save him from the con- 
sequences of a fatal mistake — from an irre- 
parable wrong." 

" And this mistake— it was my father's ? " 


Ellinor walked to the window. Was she 
to lose everything at one blow — father, lover 
— all that life held for her ? tf You are sure ? 
This is best for Guy— is it to save him ? " she 
asked again at last. 

" I am quite sure." 

The girl walked over to the writing-table 
without another word. 

*' You will know that my father has left 
me suddenly," she wrote, 4t I believe Sir 
Arthur and Lady Peyton know more of the 
cause than I — I learn that it is his wish that 
pur marriage should be delayed until his 
return. No one knows when that will be* 
For your own sake I write to give you your 
freedom, I was mad to ask of you what I 
did last night — forget it, Guy. Do you think 
I am cold-hearted that I write so? I think I 
am dead — I can feci nothing," 

When she had finished Lady Peyton was 
prepared to leave. 

"I will send this," Ellinor said; "John 
shall ride oifirifflMfclPOlTl 




" You are a brave woman, Ellinor." She 
kissed the girl's cheek. It occurred to her 
that there were things even more potent 
than wealth to wipe out inherited stain. 

Sir Arthur had purposely detained his son 
that morning, talking over matters totally 
unconnected with the topic uppermost in 
both minds. Guy had just escaped and was 
mounting to ride over to Firholt when 
Ellinor's letter was put into his hand. He 
was thunderstruck and furiously angry. 
Although perfectly aware that something 
had gone seriously wrong, he had waited, 
determined that his father should take the 
initiative, and equally determined that nothing 
should induce him to give up Ellinor. What 
he was not prepared for was that his mother 
should get the start of him, and deal the 
blow through the hand of his love. He went 
straight to Sir Arthur, the letter in his hand. 

" You knew of this, sir ? My mother has 
seen Ellinor this morning." The elder man 
felt uncomfortable. There was an unpleasant 
look of conspiracy about the affair; but, 
Ellinor having proved reasonable, secrecy 
was no longer an object, and he told his son 
simply the whole story. Carefully as he 
detailed his own action in the matter, it was 
not difficult to read between the lines. The 
anger of the younger man deepened. 

" Very well, sir," he said, when his father 
paused. "I more than half guessed the 
truth last night In the face of it I re- 
newed my word to Miss Rawdon. You have 
thought fit to hound away her father, to 
treat me like a child, and coerce Ellinor into 
breaking with me, working on her sense of 
honour. I can only say — if she will not 
marry me, I will marry no woman alive." 

Then he took his hat and went out, over 
to FirholL Ellinor came down to him, a 
haggard, white-faced woman. 

" Ellinor, what do you mean ?" 

" You know what I mean." 

" Don't you know it is simply impossible 
to separate yourself from me ? " 

" You must not marry me." 

" Nonsense, I mean to marry you." 

She clasped her hands and rested the open 
palms upon his shoulder, looking into his 
face, her strained, tired eyes meeting his. 
" Guy, I must find him — find my father." 

" Do you love him best ? " 

" No, but if I married you, even if your 
father and mother consented, if I could 
escape from doing you shameful injury, he 
would keep away, thinking that so we might 
be happy. I should have his long pain, 
perhaps his death upon my heart." 

" Dear love, I will find him ; then we will 
go away together, he and you and I." 

"No, no, it is impossible. Your mother 
would be heartbroken ; and she trusts me." 

" She did wrong to appeal to you. If we 
had been married, they must have accepted 
everything ; there would have been no alter- 
native, and it is the same thing." 

" Guy, what has he done ? " 

"Nothing, love, that has not long ago 
been wiped out." 

But Ellinor kept her word. Guy must go, 
and she would wait for her father's home- 

Guy also kept his word. He told her that 
he held himself bound, that he would seek 
Matthew Rawdon through the world and 
bring him back. In the meantime Ellinor 
refused to receive his letters or write to him. 

The months went by, and Matthew Raw- 
don did not come, nor Guy. Lady Peyton 
and Sir Arthur began to console themselves 
with the thought that the little man must be 
dead, and to weary for their son. Ellinor 
advertised, sought the aid of a private inquiry 
office, all to no avail. She lived on quietly 
at Firholt with Mrs. Montresor, seldom going 
into society. She had grown into a grave, 
slightly reserved woman. 

Every evening she went down to a path 
she loved, shadowed in spring by lilacs, 
laburnums, and guelder-roses; behind these 
a plantation of laurels. On the other side it 
was open to the park. She used to fancy 
that some evening in the dusk her waiting 
would be ended, and she should see her 
father coming. 

After two years someone came; not her 
father, but Guy. 

He had been to the house first, and took 
her unawares. Until she saw him, she did 
not know the exceeding bitterness of her 
loneliness and longing ; she stretched out her 
arms with a cry. 

"Sweetheart," he said presently, "there 
must be no more parting between you and 
me. My people can't stand out any longer 
— the loneliness of the old place has proved 
too much for them. I will not stay here 
without you, and they are ready to welcome 

" But my father. If he came back would 
they welcome him ? And, until he does, how 
can I break my word ? " 

11 Listen, love — they think, we all think — 
Nell, I have tried every means to find him, 
and failed." There was a rustling among the 
laurel leaves. " It is only a bird," said Guy, 
feeling that she s tuned. 




"You think/' she almost whispered, "that 
he is — -dead ?— without saying good-bye — 
without a word to me? Oh, Guy, whatever 
\w has done I loved him. How can I be 
happy in the fruit of his pain— to die deserted 
and alone ? " 

He tried to comfort her. Would not the 
greatest wish, the one keen desire of the lost 
man's heart be fulfilled if she were beloved 
and happy ? 

Together they walked towards the house ; 
when they were out of sight the laurels rustled 
once more, and in the dusk there crept 
out a small, dark figure, 
unshaven, ragged, and 

There Ellinor went to him, and shut the 

" Father ! father ! Oh, why will you not 
speak to me ? Say once more, c My little 

But Matthew Rawdon, the forger, would 
never speak again. Medical examination 
showed that he had been dead for many 
hours, the immediate cause of death being 
an old and deeply-seated heart disease, in- 
creased by suffering and want* He seemed 
to have been leading the life of a vagrant, 
but how and where he had succeeded in so 
completely hiding himself never came to 
light. The story of his death was hushed 


forlorn, A beggar, surely ! And the beggar 
knelt and kissed the dust which the young 
girl's feet had trodden. 

In the morning one of the gardeners came 
up to the house with a grave face, and asked 
to see Mrs. Montresor. 

" If you please, ma'am, there's a man, a 
tramp, he looks like ; a poor, half-starved 
creature, he's lying dead among the laurels 
down by the shrubbery walk-" 

"Good God ! The poor man ! Who can 
he be?" 

The man's face was working ; he was 
twirling his cap in his hands. He leaned 
forward and whispered — 

" Ma'am r I think, I al — most think — it's 
the master, Mr. Rawdon/' 

So for the second time the master of 
Firholt came home. 

They carried the small, light figure to the 
house, to his own room, a strange contrast to 
its luxurious fittings. 

up, as had been that Of his crime. Lady 
Peyton carefully talked of him as "highly 
eccentric," and explained that it was entirely 
owing to his eccentricity that her son's 
marriage had been postponed The odd 
little man had started off in such an unac- 
countable manner, and Ellinor had been 
so resolute in abiding by his wish that she 
should await his return. 

Well, he had come, and he was dead, and 
there was an end of it. No one had much 
interest in ferreting out the truth of his story. 
When the days of her mourning were ended, 
Ellinor married very quietly. 

Sometimes in the summer evenings she 
takes her children to her father's grave, 
hoping that he is in some way conscious of 
the fidelity of her recollection* 

She knows what was his crime — surely 
long ago worked out — and prays that its 
shadow may never fall upon those she 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 




^**^ *~^- 



^S ' 

Prom a Phoio. byi\ 


[LUusUil Fry, 

RAFTON Street, Bond Street, 
is not a particularly attractive 
thoroughfare, yet the opening 
of the door of No. r5A secures 
admission to one of the most 
interesting domiciles in the 
country. It is the home of the leading 
actor in the land. Here lives a man whom 
to meet and talk with means a real privilege. 
One whole long day with Henry Irving is 
something to be remembered. He is the 
worst possible actor in his own home — there 
is no suggestion of the theatre whilst sitting 
talking with him ; yet the romance inse- 
parable from the player's life pervades every 
nook and corner of his house, He tried his 
utmost to deceive me — he worked hard to 
conceal the kindly nature which is written in 
every feature of his face* It was a failure. 
I remembered those " little cheques." I 
thought of his pensioners ; of folk who were 
kind to him in those struggling days — of the 
story of the Christmas dinner which a worthy 

old Scotch couple gave him when, on that day 
of goodwill and good things, he was almost 
without one, and innumerable small but 
welcome acts which to-day are being repaid 
back a hundredfold* I never met a man 
who talked less about himself and more 
about other people than Henry Irving. 
With delightful diplomacy he evaded my 
questions which would incriminate himself of 
kindliness. My description of the great actor 
is of the simplest character. He has the 
kindest face you ever saw, but — you must 
look into it first, 

I passed with him one long day, first at his 
home and then in a convenient four-wheeler to 
the theatre. The staircase of his house is re- 
plete with grand bronzes. One of Don Quixote 
is just opposite the dining-room door. Here, 
too, are many views of Venice, and a number 
of sketches by Seymour Lucas. The dining- 
room overlooks Bond Street It is a 
distinctly comfortable room. A bust of 
Kemble is over the bookcase, with another of 




From a Phakt, (*tt\ 


Dante, The exquisite Spanish ware is to be 
envied. On one side of the mantelpiece is 
an interesting reminiscence of Mrs* Siddons— 
a picture of 4t The Shoulder of Mutton Inn/ T 
Brecon, South Wales, where she was born, an 
excellent portrait of the famous actress 
herselfj and a letter from her to Lord Avon. 
The latter is in very tiny running writing, and 
reads: "Thank 
you for your kind 
note, my dear Lord 
Avon. We shall 
be most happy to 
attend you at din- 
ner. Alas! Alas! 
that these delight- 
ful summers are 
so soon to end." 
The pattern of 
the chairs in this 
a par t men t is h igh 1 y 
suggestive of King 
Arthur and the 
Knights of the 
Round Table. 

The little cigar- 
room adjoins this* 
The boxes of weeds 
are many and are 
stored in a huge 
cabinet. The 
last portrait ever 
taken of Charles 
Mathews hangs 

here, together with 
a fine engraving 
of Charles I- A 
bronze of a French 
harlequin stands 
just in the shadow 
of the light from 
the window, quaint 
old books fill cor- 
ners, and over the 
mantel-board are 
examples of the 
Venetian school. 

There as much 
of deep interest 
in the drawing- 
room and small 
upstairs. An old 
Empire dock has 
retired from work 
for some time. It 
now T rests on the 
white enamel man- 
tel-board. In the 
bookcase are some very fine and old editions of 
Shakespeare, Mn Irving possesses over thirty 
different editions, all told, livery one is dated 
Here is the third edition of the Bard — once the 
property of the Duke of Bedford. Another, 
originally in the possession of the Earl of 
Aylesford, in red leather and gilt binding, 
could not be purchased for j£$oo. The 

{ EMotl & >Vy. 

Frvma i'hubt. 



f SUkdt i* Frv- 



lives and memoirs — marvellous in their com- 
pleteness — of Edmund Kean, Garrick, and 
Macready here also find their place. 

The memoirs of Kean filled a quarter of 
the room when laid out on the floor. Mr 
Irving bought up the innumerable sheets, 
engravings, and what not, including priceless 
letters and the like, pasted eight and nine 
of them on top of one another on a single 
sheet. It was an unwieldy mass of hidden 
treasure, and Mr Irving requested an obliging 
friend to "amuse himself" with sorting them 
out, whilst he was in America. On his return 
the thing was done, 

A small case contains the russet boots which 
Edmund Kean wore as Richard Iff. t and the 
sword he used as Coriolanus, A companion 
cabinet is in the drawing-room* One by one 
the treasures are taken out and talked about 
Here is David Garrick's ring, which he gave 
to his brother on his death-bed. The 
Baroness Burdett-Coutts presented it to Mr. 
Irving. Two watches are here. One is the 
gold timekeeper of John Philip Kemble, the 
other a silver one which formerly belonged to 
Edwin Forest As I held the latter in my 
hand, Mr, Irving said 
quietly : — 

" Do you notice the time 
by it ? " 

It was thirty-eight 
minutes past five, 

" That watch stopped at 
the very moment Forest 
breathed his last!" said 
Mr. Irving, as he gently 
replaced it 

But the treasures of the 
case are not exhausted. 
You can handle the silver 
dagger worn by Lord 
Byron, a pair of old sandals 
worn by Edmund Kean, a 
pin with a picture of 
Shakespeare, once the pro- 
perty of Garrick, an ivory 
tablet which belonged to 
Charles Mathews. Do not 
overlook this little purse 
of fine green silk thread 
and silver band. It was 
found in the pocket of 
Edmund Kean when he 
died. There was not a 
sixpence in it ! It was 
given to Henry Irving by 
Robert Browning. 

There are some fine 
pictures in the drawing- { 

room. A bust of Miss Ellen Terry is 
in the far corner. The silver shield which 
was presented to John Kemble in Edinburgh 
hangs on the wall. It is still surrounded 
with the wreath of laurel leaves— now faded 
— which Mr. Irving had throv/n to him the 
last night of the season. 

Then the name of Toole is mentioned. 
If you want an example of friendships, 
££ Partners for Life," link the names of Irving 
and Toole together. Their companionship 
is just as real as it is delightful. John ll 
Toole's delight is to surprise his friend Irving. 
On a table stands a fine silver-gilt trophy pre- 
sented to John Philip Kemble on his retire- 
ment from the stage. A part of its inscription 
reads : u Bought from Robert Tait, Esq,, and 
presented to Henry Irving, Esq., by his old 
friend J. L. Toole, 5th July, 1884," 

See m — Grafton S tree t . Time — mo mi ng. 
Enter Mr. Toole, meeting Mr. Irving. 

Mr. Toole i " Fve found something that 
will interest you, Irving. A vase presented 
to Kemble. Fine piece of plate designed 
by Flax man. Come to Messrs. Blanks and 
look at it" 


fhm* 4 Photo. b» J^tf*l ii f r^ 




From a PhU>. b v \ 


[Eltiatt a«i Frr. 

Exit together. Arrival at shop. Big price 
asked for it* Toole pooh-poohs the price. 
Thinks they ought to be only too glad to give 
it to Mr, Irving, Shopkeeper immovable, 
Toole won't have it — " only wanted his friend 
to see it, 1 * etc., etc. The two friends leave the 
shop, Toole induces Irving to go for a 
stroll. They return to Grafton Street. Toole 
departs. The vase was upstairs ! 

" That was Ah way of doing it," said Mr. 
Irving to me. 

Mr. Irving prizes nine volumes of 
" Dickens/ 1 The volumes are full of letters 
of the great novelist, bits of MSS. and draw- 
ings, all associated with his name. They are 
Foster's " Life of Dickens," interleaved with 
priceless mementos, Toole quietly left them 
at Grafton Street one day when Mr, Irving 
was out, 

"Just one little anecdote to show you the 
wonderful goodness of dear old Toole for 
ever)- body. This will illustrate his fondness 
for children, Many years ago, when we 
were both young men, we were playing 
together at a theatre in Edinburgh. Ristori 
was appearing at another house in * Marie 
Stuart/ Our programme consisted of three 
or four pieces ; we had finished the opening 
piece and were free for the second, so we 
made Up our minds to slip over and sec 
Ristori for half an hour or so- It so 
happened that the last piece on the evening's 
hill was 

The Birthplace of Podgers/ As 
;his ver 

by \o 

Toole has to appear in this very early he half 


dressed for the 
character, putting 
on his corduroy 
trousers^ red vest, 
and a big over- 
coat to hide them, 
"We were just 
leaving the stage 
door together 
when we caught 
sight of three little 
boys, who were 
standing there 
watching the 
actors come in 
and out. It always 
was, and always 
will be, a fas- 
cinating spot for 
little boys- Toole 
turned to me 
suddenly : ' Can't 
help it, old chap! 
Ca.n f t help it, 
must do itl He 
rushed up to the youngsters, 

" * Halloa ! my little friends ! Want to see 
Podgers ? Come along. Look sharp— here 
he is ! J and he displayed to the wondering 
youngsters his beautiful red waistcoat with 
the white pearl buttons. 

11 ' Here, wait a minute ! There's one for 
you, another for you, my little man. Why ! I 
have got another left for you. Goodbye, God 
bless you!' He had given them all a penny 
each ; and we rushed away to see Ristori," 

A great black raven stands just over the 
door which leads to the study. This is an 
apartment suggestive of much of which one 
can write very little. The writing-table is placed 
near the window. Fresh flowers had been put 
in the tiny vases a few minutes before. The 
pictures are numerous j the works of reference 
on every conceivable subject can be counted 
by the hundred, I liked the simple picture 
of Miss Ellen Terry with two dogs on her 
lap. She has written on it : " We wish you 
many happy returns of the day, and shall 
ever remain your loving, faithful friends, 
Fussie and Ned, Feb. 6, 1889, 1 ' 

Here is Fussie, just come into the room. 
He has been following us about the house 
all the morning. Who is Fussie ? A faithful 
little black and white fox-terrier, who goes with 
its master every night to the theatre, patiently 
sits on a mat in his dressing-room until the 
performance is over, and then hurries home 
again. He wakes everybody in the house, 
sometimes (j^jijjfyfiil o'clock in the morning, 




ht'yj\tk a. }*K'jUi. bjfl 


then starts out for a tour of Bond Street, 
Oxford Street, Regent Street, and the neigh- 
bourhood, returning in three or four hours* 
time- Fussie once belonged to poor Fred 
Archer, and was given to Mr Irving by Miss 
Terry, Miss Terry 
was at Newmarket 
one day going over 
some stables, and 
Fred Archer gave her 
a little pup, which 
was appropriately 
christened Fussie. 
Mr. Irving assured 
me that if he went to 
America and forgot 
to take the little 
terrier, the latter 
would swim the 
Atlantic after him ! 
Fussie specially sat 
to Miss Ellen Terry 

for the photo, reproduced. He was " caught S5 
in the act of earning his master's walking- 

At the far end of the study is a great glass, 
which reaches from the floor to the ceiling. 

Fnm a Photo. I. > I 

Against this lean a number 
of swords, all suggestive of 
interest, and many walking- 
sticks. The sword Edmund 
Kean wore as Rkkard III* 
is in a crimson velvet scab- 
bard ; another is David 
Garrick's sword ; and here is 
the one used by Mr Irving 
as Hamlet for 200 nights, 
the crape with which it is 
covered being almost in 
tatters. There are a score 
of walking-sticks. One of 
them belonged to the late 
Frank Marshall, a cane he 
carried for years. 

Then Mr. Irving sat down 
in his chair — a chair of 
incomparable comfort We 
spent the afternoon together 
in "'looking back." He spoke 
with earnestness about every* 
thing, and with gentleness 
about everybody. He 
seemed to me to always 
think before he spoke. 
His work has long ago 
told of the scholarly artist 
which he is, but you begin to 
t**** 1 ** understand it better after 
you have met the man. 
One would like to write much about his bril- 
liant career, a life which he has used to elevate 
the profession, of which he is the head, into the 
place it now occupies in the estimation of the 
public. Mr. Irving lives, and has lived, for 

his art ; it will surely 
live after him. Suf- 
fice it now to talk 
about the many 
pleasant incidents of 
a well-spent day — 
which only ended 
when I said "good- 
bye" to him at the 
theatre late at ni^ht 
— and with them 
something of the 
work he has done, 

John Henry Brod- 
ribb was born at 
sib. [Mm sum T*mt- Keinton, near Glas- 

tonbury, on February 
6th, r83S, Although Irving was adopted as his 
nom de theatre^ it is now his legal name, he 
having had letters patent granted to him for 
this purpose. He passed the early years of his 
boyhood in GtftflwWl f rflHPeleven years of age 





he became a pupil at Dr. Pinches* school, 
in Geoige Yard, Lombard Street, a locality 
rendered famous from the fact that it was at a 
chop-house in this neighbourhood that Pick- 
wick partook of hh chops and tomato sauce, 
It was at Dr« Finches' academy that young 
Irving astonished both teacher and taught 
with a recital of that somewhat weird though 
dramatic poem, " The Uncle." From the 
school he went to the desk — to an East 
India house in Newgate Street, which is still 
in existence, Mr, Irving admits to learning 
poems and parts out of convenient books 
which he managed to hide between the pages 
of the ledger. 

" I know, one day," said Mr. Irving^ 
merrily, " I started to learn a piece on my w T ay 
to the office, I 
couldn't leave it. 
Every moment 
when the mana- 
ger's eye was not 
on me, out came 
my book. I made 
up my mind to 
finish it that day* 
During my dinner 
hour I went and 
hid myself in a 
huge wooden pack- 
ing-case. The 
hour went by, and 
I knew it not. It 
appears they were 
searching all over 
for me, and it w p as 
just on six o'clock 
before they came 
across me in the 

He made his 
first appearance 
at the new Sunder- 
land Theatre on 

September 29th, 1856- Then he worked 
hard in the provinces, often learning seven- 
teen and eighteen parts a week. The early 
hours in the morning he passed with wet 
towels round his head, working at his 
lines, would astonish the most enthusi- 
astic college "cram." From Sunderland he 
went to Edinburgh, Glasgow, Manchester, 
and Liverpool. Mr* Toole practically 
obtained the first London engagement 
for Mr. Irving, They had met some 
time previously in Edinburgh. But a 
small part in " Ivy Hall," at the Princess's, 
on September 24th, 1859, did not content 
the young actor. Away he went to the 

provinces again, working harder than ever, 
and not for another seven years did he 
return to London, as leading man at the St* 
James's, playing Dor kauri in " The Belle's 
St ratage m, " H i s m ar ve I lou s ch arac t er-ac ting 
as Digby Grant in "The Two Roses," at 
the Vaudeville, is still remembered, and 
his " little cheque n rings in the ears of 
many. He played Grant for 300 nights. 
He was not regarded as a tragic actor 
then, and his magnificent performance of 
Mathias in "The Bells," at the Lyceum 
Theatre, under H. L* Bateman, came as a 
rev elation , only to be intensified — after 
appearing as Charles L % Eugene Aram t and 
Richelieu — when he appeared as HamkL He 
represented the Dane for 200 nights, the 

From « I'tuA**. H\ 


[Elliott J: Fry, 

longest run of the play on record. More 
Shakespearean and other work followed, 
until Mrs. Bate man retired from the Lyceum. 
On December 30th, 1878, the Lyceum 
Theatre opened with " Hamlet," which was. 
played another hundred nights. On the 
memorable 30th December, Miss Ellen 
Terry commenced her work at the Lyceum. 
The actor had now become a manager, and 
no management before or since has been 
attended by such brilliant results. His pro- 
ductions have been watched and waited for 
— "The Merchant of Venice," "Twelfth 
Night," " Much Ado About Nothing," 
" Vicar of Wakefield,^ " Macbeth," " Faust," 




"The Cup," "Othello"— in which he alter- 
nated the parts of the Moor and lago with 
Edwin Booth — and his last, " Henry the 
Eighth," which as a spectacle has never 
been equalled ; and now we are promised 
11 King Lear " and Lord Tennyson's 
" Becket," 

Three times has Mr. Irving, accompanied 
by Miss Ellen Terry and the Lyceum com- 
pany, crossed to America, As in this country 
so in America — his genius was instantaneously 

whilst the 
I made my 


*h?' shouted one youth 

Frvm a Photo. ty\ 


recognised. Mr. William Winter, the eminent 
dramatic critic, said : li He speaks to the soul 
and the imagination." But little has been 
said here of Miss Ellen Terry J s share in the 
Lyceum triumphs. Mr. Irving impressed 
upon me the work she had done— but 3 I 
have a little note on my table as I write now. 
It bears the signature of Ellen Terry. For 
further information see a future number of 
this Magazine. 

We spoke of many things that afternoon — 
on matters merry and subjects solid. Mr. 
Irving is never happier than when telling a 
story against himself. 

m Many years ago/' he said, "I was playing 
in Dublin. I was suddenly called upon to 
undertake a heavy part — the actor who was 
cast for it having been taken ill In those 
days your gallery boy was a much greater 
conversationalist than he is now — I mean, if 
a couple of gallery friends were separated, 
they thought nothing of holding a conversa- 

tion across the house 
was in progress. Well, 

w f Is that him ?- 
to another. 

." ' No,' came the reply , * them is the young 
man's clothes ; they'll shove htm out later 
on ! p " 

The drift of this little story will be under- 

4t Have I ever had any accidents? Only 

one serious one. 
It was in the 
first run of 
1 Hamlet' The 
sword slipped 
out of Laertes" 
hand and cut 
me near the eye. 
A dear friend of 
mine, Dr. George 
Critchett, was 
in front; he 
came round and 
stopped the 
bleeding by 
twelve hours' ap- 
plication of ice. 
Fencing ? You 
saw my foils 
downstairs on 
the table? I 
never practise 
now 3 for if once 
learnt the art is 
i eh iou £ Fr v . never forgot ten. 
I took my first 
lessons from a man named Shury, in 
Chancery Lane, afterwards from Roland, 
in Edinburgh, and also from McTurk 
at Angelo's. Have I ever forgotten my 
part? Yes, I have. It is a curious thing 
that the more perfect you are in a part, 
the more likely you are to f stick.' It 
is often the case after you have been 
playing the same character for a hundred 
or more nights. The worst part of it is 
that when you want the prompter he is never 

** ^Give me the word, J says the actor, 
" * Whit word do you want ? ' replies the 

The day was going quickly, Mr. Irving 
suddenly jumped up, 

11 Half-past six ! we must be off. Excuse 
me whilst I just write a line, Ixjok at that/' 
passing me a letter; "it came this morning. 
I get many move like it.' ? 



Irving to produce an original play in blank 
verse which he had written 3 

During our drive to the theatre he told me 
many things of interest On the question as to 
whether Mr. Irving thought a school of acting 
necessary, he said that one could never make 
an actor. You can teach him elocution, 
technique, but there is no making an actor. 
Even technique is a life-long study. The 
fashions in hand-shaking change every day. 
He studies his parts 
everywhere ; many of 
the characters we are 
seeing to-day he had 
within his mind years 
ago, and they have been 
developing and growing 
ever since* Then, after 
years of playing, there 
is still always some- 
thing to learn in a 

Mr. Irving is one of 
the few actors who, at 
the conclusion of a 
death scene in a tragedy, 
always fall forward. Mr, 
Irving has taken the 
opinion of physicians 
and many old sskiiers 
on the subject, and it 
is the only natural way 
with those suddenly 
overtaken by death. 
When a man was shot 
his head fell or. his 
breast, and the body 
always fell in the direc- 
tion indicated by the 

Just as we drove up 
to the private door of 
the theatre in Burleigh 
Street, Strand, I asked 
Mr. Irving if he had ever 
met the late Cardinal 
Manning. He never 
had. Yet as Cardinal 
Wohey in " Henry the 
Eighth," when the actor 
smiles, his expression is the exact counter- 
part of that of the late Cardinal. 

Fussie follows us in. Passing through a 
passage, which leads direct on to the stage, 
at the and we find some stairs. The walls just 
here are covered with Indian matting. A 
very few steps, and you have entered the 
dressing-room. It is just as cosy as it well 
can be. The walls are covered with pictures 

and prints, including one by Maclise, and 
Edmund Kean by ClinL Pictures of the 
actor himself are not wanting, and portraits 
of Sarah Bernhardt, Ellen Terry, and John 
L. Toole are in prominent positions. The 
place of honour is a huge " King Arthur " 
chair. Here princes, poets, and politicians, 
men of learning and of all nationalities, have 

But it is the table which fascinates one 
most A clean white 
linen cloth has been 
laid outj and every- 
thing is ready for making 
up. Everything on the 
board is time-worn — 
the table itself being a 
stage "prop," and use- 
ful for banqueting 
scenes. The looking- 
glass — tied together 
with string — has been 
in use for something 
like twenty years ; the 
wicker - basket, which 
contains the making-up 
materials, is of a good 
age. There is quite a 
variety of puffs. Tiny 
saucers and plates are 
neatly arranged in 
order,- containing 
vari ou s po wd ers — pri n - 
cipally a mixture of 
yellow ochre and whi e, 
for each will help to 
suggest the complexion 
of Cardinal Wols€}\ 
which is the character 
he will play to-night. 
The chair — 
placed in front 
of the table — 
is old and 
rickety, but he 
who has just 
sat down keeps 
it for associa- 
tions 1 sake, 
and it gives 
more comfort than a Turkish ottoman. 
Fussie never stirs from the spot. 
There was still plenty of time to spare, as 
we had a reason for reaching the theatre 
early, It was to talk about dear Charles 
Mathews. Mr. Irving took down his picture. 
It was given to him by Mrs. Mathews, and 
represents the electrical comedian at seventy- 
six. It. 15 a .striking likeness ; . and the facs 



It is a striking likeness : a 





of one of Mr. living's dearest friends brought 
many a happy reminiscence to mind, 

u Ah ! 3J said Mr. Irving, as he looked at 
the picture, " the brilliancy and exquisite 
style of Mathews have never been excelled. 
In my early days Mathews was a true friend 
to me — yes, and in the later days too. I 
remember when t first went to the Sl Janu-s's 
Theatre; I went as stage manager, 
and there were a lot of old actors 
there — amongst them Frank Mat- 
thews and Walter Lacy. I was a 
young man amongst these old 
stagers. I admit to feeling nervous, 
and was fearful lest I might do 
something which the older men 
might resent. The first day came. 
All went very nicely, and we were 
just commencing to rehearse 'The 
Belle's Stratagem/ when who should 
skip on to the stage but Charles 
Mathews ! Stopping the rehearsal 
for the moment, he rushed up to 
Frank Matthews and Walter I^acy. 

M 'Ah ! Frank, my boy — Walter ! 
One moment My young friend, 
Irving — Frank, Walter. Be kind 
to him. Good-bye. God bless 
you ! ' And he was gone, 

"Mathews had a tender heart. 
Here is another kindness of 
Mathews, I once played a part 
in I^ndon, and was very much cut 
up by the Press, Mathews was 

round at my rooms almost as soon as 
the papers were out He talked to 
me for over an hour, cheered me up, 
and did more for me in that hour than 
I can tell. I heard afterwards that as 
soon as he read the 
notices in the papers 
at his breakfast, he 
got up there and 
then, left his meal un- 
finished, and hurried 

" Mathews and I 
were one day looking 
through an album, 
and came across a 
drawing of the back 
of a man. 

"*Lafont! J Icried. 

" Mathews cried 

out, 'What do you 

know about Lafont? 3 

" * I've seen him 

act,' I replied. 

1( Mathews turned 
to me very quietly, 
and said : f To that 


Fr&tn t\ 




man I owe all — I built myself up on him!' 
The fact is," continued Mr. Irving, "when 
I was playing at the St. James's, after I had 
finished I would often drop into the gallery 
of the Princess's Theatre and see the 
end of a French play. From that gallery 
I saw an actor, which caused me to say 
inwardly, ' That's my man. 3 He was great 
That actor was I^ifont That is how I recog- 
nised him m Mathews' album. 

" Mathews was always letter-perfect, and 
Severe with the forgetful ones. Here is an 
instance. I was once playing at Edinburgh 
in * Bachelor of Arts.' A certain actor was 

cast for the part of Adofphus. Mathews, 
in the play, was his tutor. It was necessary 
for the elucidation of the plot for Ad&lphus 
to tell the story of his life to his tutor. The 
scene arrived. He did not know his part 
He started and stumbled, started again and 
stumbled worse, until at last, thinking to get 
out of it, he turned to Mathews and said r 
£ Well, er — if you'll come into the next room 
I'll tell you the story ! ' 

" Mathews caught him by the coat 
"'Sit down, sir/ he cried, 'sit down. 
There are some ladies and gentlemen in 
this i^^y^j^^^i^^^ould like to 



hear you tell that story. Never mind me. 
Go on. J 

11 ' Well, er y began the youth. 

" ' just so/ said the irrepressible comedian, 
( you wanted to tell me that you were 
born ' 

" * Yes, 1 faltered the youth, 

" * And that after spending a few years ' 

"'Just so,' 

"So Mathews filed out the whole speech 
for him. When he had finished he turned 
to the young fellow and in a voice of thunder 
cried : — 

" ' Now you may go into the next room ! J 

" Here is a story just to show you the 
difference of opinion in two great actors. 

The came to Birmingham, where I 

was engaged. The play was * A Scrap of 
Paper/ and I was cast for the boy's part In 
this I have to challenge a man of the world 
to fight. He treats it as a joke, and suggests 
that the duel should take place in Japanese 
fashion, which, according to him, is to each 
take a knife and rush. Boy gets very fidgety 
at this. 

" I used to take out a pocket-handkerchief 
to wipe my face at my prospects in the duel, 
and manage, at the same time, to let an 

, * f f 

orange fall. The audience were delighted at 
this little bit of business. Well, the play was 
over the first night A knock at my dressing- 
room door — Mr, and Mrs- wished to 

see me. I got a most severe lecture, and 
the orange business was forbidden. It didn't 
occur again. 

11 Some time afterwards I was at another 
theatre. Same piece was played ; I was cast 
for the boy again, and Mathews was in it. 

As I didn't agree with the on the 

orange business, I introduced it again, 
believing it helped the scene. The orange was 
dropped. Mathews stopped and coughed 

"'Good gracious,' I thought, 'I've bothered 
Mathews ! * 

"Still, after the play was over, no knock 
came to the door. On the second night, 
thinking I inconvenienced Mathews, I left the 
piece of * business * out. That night there was 
a tap at the door. It was Mathews, 

" ' Well, young Irving, what's the matter 
with you to-night ? 7 he said ; £ you're as dull 
as ditch water, Where's the orange ? Let's 
have that orange, it ! s the hit of the piece.' " 

Now Mr. Irving lays his glasses on one 
side — it is time to make up. By-the-bye ? he 
considers it an advantage to the actor to be 
short-sighted — he doesn't see if the audience 
smiles at the serious parts and cries at the 
comic portions of the play. 

The face finished, Mr, Irving resumes his 
glasses. The whole make- 
up has only taken a few 
minutes. That needed for 
Mathias in "The Bells" 
is the simplest of all such 
stage faces ; Shyl&tk is the 
most elaborate, occupying 
three-quarters of an hour, 
Rkhtlieu and Charles L 
ranking next Now Mr. 
Irving dons the silken 
robes of the Cardinal — 
the biretta and book are 
close at hand. A ring is 
put on the finger; a final 
glance, and the great actor 
leaves the dressing-room. 

I follow quietly down- 
stairs — talking together 
until we reach the wings; 
a door opens in the scene ; 
Mr, Irving hurriedly re- 
marks : "Fm off," and the 
next moment a shout of 
welcome tells me that 
Cardinal Wolsty is on the 
stage. This wonderful 
change, so sudden and complete— for he had 
walked straight from his room to the stage, 
the entrance being cleverly timed — this 
sudden W^f^^^g^the p]ayer 



was remarkable. It was so all the evening. 
Whilst on the stage he at once became 
another man ; with his exit the Cardinal was 
completely forgotten. One moment he 
would be in the act of relating some merry 
anecdote, only to break away without a 
word of warning, in the 
midst of it, and the 
recollection of the story 
was soon lost in listen- 
ing to some magnificent 

The opportunity was 
afforded me of wit- 
nessing the working of 
a veritable little army 
of slage hands behind 
the scenes. It is a 
perfect organization, 
and the enthusiasm 
displayed by the men, 
whether in setting a 
scene or brushing the 
crimson plush chairs in 
readiness for a change, 
seemed to tell that it was 
as much out of regard 
for the man under whom 
they labour as it was for 
wages. But, when not 
with Mr, Irving, I spent 
most of my time on a 
little wooden seat which 
has been let into the pro- 
scenium wall, and affords 
an excellent view of the 

stage from behind. It is the favourite seat 
of Mr. W« £, Gladstone when he visits the 
Lyceum, and many other eminent men have 
occupied it 

I was sitting there quietly. Mr, Irving had 
just made his exit, and was by my side. 

" Comfortable seat ? " 
he said, with a twinkle 
in his eyes, " The 
Chinese Ambassador 
sat there one night 
We were playing 
1 Hamlet.' Miss Terry 
was in the midst of 
her mad scene. I was 
just going round to see 
how my honoured Celes- 
tial friend was getting 
on. He was in the 
act of walking on to the 
stage — the playing of Miss 
Terry had affected him so 
that he was burning to 
congratulate her on the 
spot. I was only in the 
nick of time to hold him 
back; another half a foot 
"and he would have made 
his ( first appearance ! J I 
wonder what the audience 
would have thought of the 
entrance of somebody in 
the most gorgeous of 
robes, whose name was 
not on the programme ? " 
Harry How, 


[We wish to draw attention to a mistake which inadvertently found its way into the Illustrated Interview, 
Mr. George Augustus SaIa,on page 61 of our July number. It appears that Mr. Sala did not execute the 
bust of the baby which is given in the illustration by the side of the Dauphin's cabinet, but another one which 
is at Brighton. He was away from home when the photographer made the photographs for the illustration of 
the interview, and hence the mistake occurred of selecting Mr. Gillcott's statuette, thinking it had been the 
one that had been described to Mr, Harry How, The one which appears in the Magazine was the work of 
Mr. Fred, Gallcott, and was a gift by him to Mr. Sala.] 


A Romance from a Detectives Case-Book. 

By Dick Donovan. 

Author of " The Man from Manchester \" M Trailed to Doom? " Caught ai Last,** <r Who Poisoned Hetty 
Duncan V" iv A DetecHvis Triumphs," M In the Grip of the Law/' etc Ife 


r was a bitter night in Decem- 
ber, now years ago, that a young 
and handsome man called 
upon me in great distress, to 
seek my advice and assistance. 
It was the third day after 
Christmas, and having dined, and dined well, 

I had ensconced myself in my 
favourite easy chair, before a 
cheerful fire, and w T a$ engaged in 
the perusal of Charles Dickens's 

II Cricket on the Hearth/' when 
my visitor was unceremoniously 
ushered into the room. He 
held his dripping hat in his 
hand, and the heavy top-coat he 
wore was white with snow, which 
was falling heavily outside. He 
was well proportioned, of blonde 
complexion, and his face at 
once attracted me by its frank T 
open expression. He had clear, 
honest eyes, and a graceful 
moustache shaded a well-formed 

"Pardon me for intruding 
upon you," he said, in a some- 
what excited tone, as he placed 
his wet hat on the table and 
began to pull off his thick 
woollen gloves; £ *but the fact 
is, I am in a frame of mind 
bordering upon distraction. Let 
me introduce myself, however. 
My name is Harold Welldom 
Kingsley ; Welldom being an 
old family name* I am the 

son of the late Admiral Kingsley, who, 
as you may possibly be aware, distinguished 
himself greatly in the service of his Queen 
and country," 

" Yes," I answered. " I knew your father 
by reputation, and I remember that when he 
died some years ago his remains w r ere 





accorded a public funeral. I am pleased to 
make the acquaintance of the son of so 
distinguished a man. Pray remove your coat 
and be seated, and let me know in what way 
I can serve you." 

" I am in the Admiralty Office," my visitor 
continued, as he divested himself of his 
damp coat, and placing it on' the back of a ^ 
chair sat down. Thereupon I pushed the 
shaded lamp that stood on the table nearer 
to him, tilting the shade slightly so that the 
light might fall upon his face, for it is my 
habit always to study the face of the person 
with whem I_am in conversation: '*A«d-I 
live with my mother and two sisters at 
Kensington. For three years I have been 
engaged to a young lady, who is, I may 
venture. to say, the sweetest woman who ever 
drew the breath of life." 

"Ah!" I murmured, with a smile, as I 
closely watched my visitor, and saw his face 
light up with enthusiasm as he thus referred 
to his fiancke^ " it is the old story : love is 
blind and sees no faults until too late." 

"In my case it is not so," he exclaimed, 
with a force of emphasis that carried con- 
viction of his perfect sincerity and a belief in 
his own infallible judgment " But we will 
not discuss that point," he continued. "The 
business that has brought me here is far too 
serious. for time to be wasted in argument 
The young lady who is pledged to me as 
my wife is, at present, under arrest on the 
serious charge of having stolen some very 
valuable jewellery from a well-known firm of 

"That is a grave charge, indeed," I 
remarked, with growing interest in my visitor ; 
" but presumably there must have been good 
drimd facie evidence to justify her arrest" - 

"Yes," Mr. Kingsley exclaimed, with an 
agonized expression, "that is the most 
terrible part of the whole aflair. I am afraid 
that legally the evidence will go against her ; 
and yet morally I will stake my very soul on 
her innocence." 

"You speak somewhat paradoxically, Mr. 
Kingsley," I said, with a certain amount of 
professional sternness, for it seemed to me he 
was straining to twist facts to suit his own 

"To yo*i it will seem so," he answered; 
"but if you have the patience to listen tome 
I will tell ^pu.thue, whole story, and I think 
you will say Lam right" 

I intimated that I was quite prepared to ? 
listen to anything he had to say, and leaning 
back in my chair with the tips of nay fingers , 
together and my eyes half closed — an attitude 

I always unconsciously assume when en- 
gaged in trying to dissect some human 
puzzle — I waited for him to continue. 

"The lady's name is Beryl Artois," he 
went on. " She was bom in France. Her 
mother was an English lady highly connected ; 
and her father was a Frenchman of indepen- 
dent means. They lived surrounded with 
every luxury in a small chateau, on the banks 
of the Seme, not far from St Germain. 
Unhappily, Monsieur Artois was fatally fond 
of a life of ease and pleasure, and dying 
suddenly after a night of revel in Paris, at a 
hal masque, *<Uiring^ the mj-cemme, it was 
found that he had dissipate8 his fortune, and 
left his widow and child totally unprovided 
for. Even his ch&teau was mortgaged up to 
the hilt, and on his furniture was a bill of 
sale. Not wishing to be dependent on his 
relations, Madame Artois and her daughter 
came to London. Beryl at that time was 
only six years of age. She was a delicate 
girl, and needed all her mother's care 
and attention. For a few years Madame 
earned her living as a teacher of French, 
music and drawing, and every spare moment 
she had she devoted to the education and 
training of her daughter. Unhappily, before 
Beryl was twelve years of age her doting 
mother died, and a bachelor uncle, her 
mother's only brother, took Beryl under his 
care, and as he was well off he engaged a 
highly-qualified governess for her. I first 
became acquainted with her when she was 
eighteen years of age. That is now a little 
over six years ago ; and though I have 
proved the soundness of the old adage which 
says that the course of true love never did 
rtm smooth, I have every reason to con- 
gratulate myself, for, as I have before hinted, 
Beryl is goodness itself." 

" In what, way has your wooing been 
ruffled?" I asked. 

"Well, Mr. Tamworth, her uncle, refused 
for some time to countenance our engage- 
ment, and threw every obstacle in the way ; 
and as Beryk was much under his inftttance, 
she struggled between what she considered 
her duty to her uncle and fofcter father, and 
love for me. The love has triumphed, and 
Mr. Tamworth has consented to our union 
on condition that we wait three years, and 1 
obtain the promotion I hope to obtain in the 
Government service in that time." 

"This is a very* pretty, A even a romantic, 
story," I remarked ; " but it is as old as the 
hitts, and yet, like all love stories; ever new. 
But now for the sequel. How comes it that 
this well-nurtured and well-cared-for young 
. UNI V E Tt F MICH IGA N vol. iv.- 3 8. 



lady has fallen under the suspicion of being 
a thief?" 

" Ah ! that is where the mystery comes 
in," exclaimed Mr. Kingsley in great 
distress. " I ask you now, is it likely that 
Beryl, who has everything she requires — for 
her uncle is wealthy — and who would 
shudder at anything that by any possible 
means could be construed as wrong-doing, 
would descend to purloin jewellery from a 
jeweller's shop ? " 

I could not help smiling at what seemed 
to be the sweet simplicity of this love-stricken 
young man, nor could I refrain from saying : — 

" May I venture to remark," I answered, 
"that in all probability this sentiment does 
more credit to your heart than your head ? " 

" I tell you, sir," exclaimed Kingsley, 
almost fiercely, " that Beryl Artois is as 
innocent as you are \ }S 

" Well, now, Mr. Kingsley/ 1 I observed, 
u as we have had the sentimental and 
poetical side of the affair, let us go into the 
more vulgar and prosaic part of the business. 
Therefore please give me a plain, straight- 
forward answer to the questions I shall put 

to you, 
reside ? 

First, where does Mr Tarn worth 


11 In answer to your question, Mr. Kingsley, 
permit me to say that the annals of crime 
contain many such cases. Unhappily, neither 
education nor moral training is sufficient 
safeguard against transgression, where the 
tendency to wrong-doing exists. In the case 
in point it is very possible that the lady's 
vanity and love of display have t empted her 
to her fall" 

" For Heaven's sake, Mn Donovan, don't 
drive me mad," cried my visitor, with an out- 
burst of passionate distress that begot my 
fullest sympathy. ' If all the angels in 
Heaven were to come down and proclaim 
Beryl's guilt, I would still believe her 

" He resides at Linden House, 
Thames Ditton." 

" You say he is well off? " 
" Yes. He keeps numerous ser- 
vants, rides to hounds, drives his 
carriage, and is very highly re- 

11 Has he always been kind to 
his niece ? ■ 

"In every possible waj> I 

11 And has supplied her with all 
she has wanted ? " 

"Yes, I do not think any 
reasonable request of hers has ever 
been refused." 

"And now, as regards the charge 
she has to meet Give me full 
particulars of that" 

" It appears that the day before 
yesterday she came up to town in 
the brougham, and drove to Whit- 
ney, Blake, and Montague, the 
well-known jewellers of Regent 
Street, There she stated that she 
wished to purchase a diamond 
bracelet for a New Year's gift, and 
some costly things were shown to 
her. But after more than an hour 
spent in the shop she could not make up her 
mind, for though she saw what she wanted, 
the price was higher than she cared to go to ; 
and, before committing herself to the purchase 
of the article, she was anxious to consult her 
uncle, since she is necessarily dependent upon 
him for her pocket-money. Consequently, she 
told the assistant in the shop that she would 
call again the next day and decide, She 
thereupon took her departure t and entered 
the brougham, but had not proceeded very 
far before the assistant tore down the street, 
accompanied by a policeman, overtook the 
brougham, which had been brought to a 
standstill owinjr to the congested traffic, and 





diamond pendant worth nearly a thousand 
pounds. Of course, she most Indignantly 
denied it But the shopman insisted on 
giving her in charge/* 

"And was the pendant found either in the 
brougham or on her person ? 1? 

4t Oh, dear, no. Miss Artois begged that 
the policeman and the shopman would get 
into the brougham, and that they should 
drive straight to Scotland Yard. This was ; 
done j and though the young lady and the 
brougham were alike searched, the pendant 
was not forthcoming. Nevertheless, the 
shopman persisted in his accusation, and so 
there was no alternative but to place Miss 
Artois under arrest." 

u This is a very remarkable story," I 
answered, tc and may prove a very serious 
business indeed for the firm of jewellers if 
they cannot justify their charge." 

i£ They will never be able to do that," said 

night, but immediately after breakfast the 
following morning I jumped into a hansom 
and drove to Whitney, Blake, and Montague's 
place. As everyone knows, they are a firm 
of world-wide renown, and I could not 
imagine them committing such a grave error 
as to accuse a lady of theft, unless they had 
very strong reason for believing they were 
right I requested an interview with Mr. 
Whitney, and his version of the affair was 
substantially the same as that told to me by 
Mr, Kingsley. 

u Of course," added Mr. Whitney, " we 
rely entirely upon the statement of our 
manager, Mr, John Coleman, who attended 
to the lady. Mr, Coleman, I may inform 
you, has been with the firm since he was 
seventeen years of age, and he is now over 
fifty. And as he is a partner in the firm, our 
faith in him is justified. However, you shall 
see Coleman and judge for yourself,^ 


Kingsley, warmly, "and you may depend upon 
it, they will have to pay dearly for their error 
They maintain, however, that they have 
certainly lost the jewel ; that no one else 
could possibly have taken it except Miss 
Artois ; and that she must have managed to 
secrete it in some way, The whole charge, 
however, is preposterous, and I wish you to 
thoroughly prove the young, lady's Innocence 
in order that an action may be commenced 
against Whitney, Blake, and Montague," 

;. Promising my visitor that I would do my 
utmost in his interests, he took his depart v r % 
and then, lighting a cigar, I fell to pondering 
on this — as I had to admit to myself — very 
remarkable case, assuming that all the facts 
were as stated hy Mr. Kingsley. 

, It was too late to take any steps that 

Mr. Whitney sounded his bell and requested 
that Mr. Coleman would come to the room. 
In a few minutes Coleman entered* He 
at once struck me as being a very shrewd, 
keen-eyed man of business. And without 
any unnecessary verbiage he gave me his 
account of the affair ; according to which he 
devoted special attention to the young lady, 
as he thought she was going to be a good 
customer. There were other customers in 
the shop at the time, but he conducted her 
to one end of the counter where there was 
no one else. She caused him a good deal of 
trouble, and looked at a large number of 
things, but did not seem to know her own 
mind ; and at last went away without 
purchasing anvthing, 

frvWfr\%m^N just beforeshe 



left, his attention was drawn off by one of 
the assistants coming to him to ask a question, 
and during that time he had little doubt she 
availed herself of the opportunity to abstract 
the pendant from the jewel tray upon which 
he had displayed the things for her inspec- 

On her deciding not to purchase then, he 
placed the tray temporarily in the glass case 
on the counter, locked the case, putting the 
key in his pocket, and then conducted Miss 
Artois to her brougham. He was certainly 
not absent more than five minutes. By that 
time there were very few people in the shop, 
and he proceeded immediately to the case, 
took out the tray and began to sort the jewels 
preparatory to restoring them to their re- 
speiuve positions amongst the stock. It was 
then he missed the pendant which Miss Artois 
had examined with eager interest, and had 
asked him many questions about the quality 
of the stones, their intrinsic value, and their 
setting. The pendant had originally been 
made to the order of a lady of title from 
specially selected stones ; but she died before 
the order was completed, and her executors 
declined to take the pendant, and, therefore, 
in order to dispose of it quickly, the firm had 
offered it for sale at the low price of one 
thousand pounds. 

As soon as he discovered the loss Mr. 
Coleman ran out of the shop and down the 
street, and passing a policeman on the way, he 
demanded his services. As it was the busiest 
part of the day there was a great deal of 
traffic, and Miss Artois* brougham had been 
unable to proceed very far. So convinced 
was he in his own mind that she was guilty, 
that though he was fully alive to the risks he 
ran if he made a mistake, he did not hesitate 
to give her into custody, and he was quite 
prepared to stand or fall by his act 

Although I subjected Mr. Coleman to a 
very close questioning, I could not shake his 
evidence in any way. I pointed out to him 
that there was one serious fact in connection 
with the case, and that was, he had failed to 
find the pandant either in the brougham or 
on Miss Artois' person; and that, however 
morally certain he might be that the young 
lady was guilty, no magistrate would convict 
her on such evidence. 

" I am aware of that," answered Mr. Cole- 
man, " but I have employed Detective Spie- 
glemann, of Scotland Yard, to make some 
inquiries about the lady, and he informs me 
that on various occasions when she has visited 
the shops of well-known tradesmen, goods 
have afterwards been missed. The victims 

have almost invariably been jewellers, and 
the property purloined has generally been of 
great value." 

" If that is correct there isprimd facie evi- 
dence," I answered ; " but still, suspicion is 
not proof, and unless you have something 
better to offer, I have no hesitation in saying 
you will fail to secure a conviction." 

Mr. Coleman appeared, for the first time, 
to be a little disconcerted, and I fancied that 
I detected signs in his face that he felt he 
had been somewhat hasty. Nevertheless, he 
reasserted his belief that the young lady was 
guilty, though he was utterly unable to suggest 
what had become of the stolen pendant 
Female searchers had subjected Miss Artois 
to the most rigorous examination, and every 
nook and cranny of the brougham had been 

" May I ask, Mr. Coleman, if Spieglemann 
was present when the search was made?" I 
inquired pointedly. 

" Oh, yes," exclaimed Coleman. " He 
happened to be in the Yard at the time, and 
conducted the search." 

" Indeed. And did he think of searching 
the coachman who drove the brougham ? " 

As I asked this question, a pallor of alarm 
spread itself over Coleman's face, and he and 
Mr. Whitney looked at each other, as each 
saw, for the first time, that a grave oversight 
had been committed. 

Detective Spieglemann was a German, 
who had long been attached to the force 
of Scotland Yard. But though he bore the 
reputation of being almost preternaturally 
acute, I had never been able to regard him 
in any other light than as a very ordinary 
person, whose German stolidity prevented 
him from getting out of well-worn grooves. 

Of course this expression of opinion will 
be denounced as mere professional jealousy, 
but I shall be able to justify my view by 
hard and indisputable facts. 

I have always maintained that the unravel- 
ling of anything like a mystery is capable of 
being elevated to the position of a fine art 
Spieglemann, on the other hand, asserted 
that the whole process was merely a 
mechanical one, and that only a mechanical 
mind could succeed. On these points we 
totally differed, and as I had frequently had 
the good fortune to be successful where my 
rival had failed, I was entitled to claim that 
my process was the correct one. Mr. 
Coleman's answer was another item of 
evidence in my favour. He confessed with 
unmistakable concern that the coachman 
had not been searched, and that nobody had 


2 9 ] 

suggested that he should be. In fact, no 
suspicion had fallen upon him, I really 
could not resist something like a smile as I 
remarked : — 

"That was really a most extraordinary 
oversight, and may prove very serious for 
you. For, assuming that you are right, and 
that Spieglemann is right in his statement 
that the lady lies under suspicion of having 
been concerned in other cases of a similar 
kind, is it not highly probable that the coach- 
man has been in collusion with her, and she 
passed the stolen property to him ? If this 
is not so, how did she get rid of the pendant? 
Nothing is truer than that in criminal cases 
it is the seemingly improbable that is most 

" Certainly, on the face of it nothing could 
seem more improbable than that a young 
lady t well connected and 
well off, afflicted with 
kleptomania, should make 
a confidant of her coach- 
man. Yet it is the most 
probable thing imaginable, 
but both you and Spiegle- 
mann have overlooked it.'* 

Mr. Coleman was per- 
fectly crestfallen, and freely 
admitted that a very grave 
oversight had been com- 
mitted. Thanking him 
and Ml Whitney I with- 
drew, and it was perfectly 
clear to me that I left the 
two gentlemen in a very 
different frame of mind to 
what they had been in 
when I first saw them. 

In passing all the facts, 
as I now knew them, 
under review, I could not 
deny that circumstances 
looked dark against Miss 
Artois ; and putting aside 
the possibility that some- 
body else might have 
stolen the pendant, I ad- 
mitted the strong proba- 
bility that she was in 
reality the thief, That 
being so, the idea struck 
me — and it evidently had 
not struck anyone else, 
not even the renowned 
Spieglemann — that she was a confederate, 
more likely than not a victim, of the coachman. 
On this supposition I determined to act, :ind 
my next step was to seek an interview with 


Miss Artois, in order that I might form some 
opinion of her from personal knowledge, I 
obtained this interview through the solicitors 
who had been engaged on her behalf by her 
devoted lover, Harold Kingsley* Although 
prepared to find her good looking, I certainly 
was not prepared for the type of beauty she 

J don't think I ever looked upon a more 
perfect, a sweeter, and 1 will go so far as to 
say a more angelic face than she possessed, 
while her form and mould were such that an 
artist would have gone into raptures about 
her, I was informed that she had undergone 
a preliminary examination before the police 
magistrate^ who had remanded her without 
bail, although bail had been offered to an 
unlimited amount by her uncle ; but the 
magistrate had stated that he would consider 
the question of bail the 
next time she came before 

As I entered the little 
cell she occupied at the 
police station, and intro- 
duced myself, giving her 
to understand at the same 
time that I was there by 
request of Mr Kingsley, 
she rose from the table at 
which she had been sitting 
engaged in the perusal of 
a book, which I subse- 
quently discovered to be 
a well-thumbed, dilapi- 
dated, and somewhat dirty 
copy of Moore's La Hah 
Rookh ; and bowing with 
exquisite grace she said in 
a low, musical, and touch- 
ingly pathetic voice : — 

M It is good of you to 
come, and more than kind 
of Mr. Kingsley to send 
you ; but 1 am sorry that 
you have come, and I wish 
that you would leave me 
without another word," 

Her soft, gazelle-like 
eyes, although apparently 
bent upon me, had a far- 
away look in them ; and 
she spoke as a person in 
a trance might speak. 
Altogether there was some- 
thing about her that at once aroused my 
curiosity and interest 

" That is a somewhat strange wish, Miss 
Artoitff.j|'JEf^^^ l VJCfl|.:|lttJhere in your 



interest ; and surely you cannot be indifferent 
to the grave charge that is hanging over you." 

" I am not indifferent, " she murmured, with 
a deep sigh. 

" Then let me urge you to confide in your 
solicitors," I said, "and withhold nothing 
from them that may enable them to prepare 
your defence." 

" I shall confide in no one," she replied 
in the same indifferent, same sweetly pathetic 

" But think of the consequences," I urged. 
. " I have thought of everything." 

" Remember also, Miss Artois, your silence 
and refusal to give information will be tanta- 
mount to a tacit confession of guilt" 

For a moment her dreamy eyes seemed to 
lose their dreaminess and to be expressive of 
an infinite pain, as she answered with quite 
a fiery energy — 

" I am not guilty ! " She laid peculiar 
emphasis on the word " not" 

11 Then," said I, quickly, " do all you pos- 
sibly can to prove your guiltlessness " — and 
in order that there should be no ambiguity 
in my meaning, I added — "if you are the 
victim of anyone, for Heaven's sake let it be 
known. For the sake of your lover conceal 
not the truth." 

" For the sake of my lover and the love I 
bear him I will die," she murmured, with the 
dreaminess which seemed peculiar to her. 

"Then withhold nothing from your soli- 
citors," I repeated. 

" Go 1 " she said, peremptorily, as she 
sank into her seat again, and resumed her 

"Have you no message to send to Mr. 
Kingsley ? " I asked. 

" Go ! " she repeated, without looking at 

" Let me take some comforting word from 
you to Mr. Kingsley," I entreated. 

She made no reply, but apparently was 
deeply absorbed in the book. Feeling that 
it would be useless to remain any longer, 
I withdrew, and as I did so she did not even 
look up from the book, nor did she make 
any response when I bade her adieu. 

I had promised to call upon Mr. Kingsley 
and acquaint him with the result of my inter- 
view with Miss Artois; and I carried out 
this promise with a sense of distress that 
I could hardly describe, because I was quite 
unable to give him the assurance he so 
much wanted that his fiancee was guiltless. 
Guiltless she was, in one sense, I was sure ; 
but I was conscious of the fact that I was 
confronted with as complicated a human 

problem as I had ever been called upon to 
find a solution of. 

I put the best face I could on matters 
while talking to young Kingsley; and on 
leaving him I felt convinced that my first 
surmise with reference to the coachman being 
a party to the robbery was a correct one. 
I had not been slow to determine that Miss 
Artois' temperament was one of those deeply 
sympathetic and poetic ones which are pecu- 
liarly subject to the iniiuence of stronger 

In short, I came to the conclusion that 
the coachman was the really guilty person, 
and Miss Artois was his victim. He — in my 
opinion — had exercised some strange mes- 
meric influence over her, and she had been 
entirely under his sway. I was confirmed 
in this view when I learnt that the great 
Spieglemann had gathered up a mass of 
circumstantial evidence which tended to 
prove that Miss Artois had been in the habit 
for a long time of visiting some of the lead- 
ing tradesmen in all quarters of London, and 
that these tradesmen had been robbed of 
property which in the aggregate represented 
many thousands of pounds. 

It was altogether a peculiar case, as it 
presented two startling phases of human 
nature ; and if Miss Artois had sinned, she 
had sinned not because her inclinations 
tended that way, but because her non-resist- 
ing, sympathetic nature had been made an 
instrument for the profit and gain of a debased 
and wicked man who did not scruple to use 
this beautiful girl as a means to an end. 

My next step was to hurry off to the 
Lindens at Thames Ditton, in order that I 
might get full particulars from Mr. Tamworth 
of his coachman, before having the man 
arrested. The Lindens was a large house, 
standing in its own grounds, and everything 
about the place was suggestive of wealth and 
comfort I was ushered into an elegantly 
furnished drawing-room, and a few minutes 
later the door opened, and a little, podgy, 
bald-headed man, wearing gold eye-glasses, 
and dressed in a large patterned dressing 
gown and Turkish slippers, entered, and 
eyed me with a pair of strangely keen and 
hawk-like eyes. It was Mr. Tamworth, and 
in many respects he was a striking and 
remarkable man, for his face was strongly 
marked, his eyes of unusual, almost unnatural 
brilliancy, the mouth firm, the -square jaw 
indicative of an iron will. He was perfectly 
clean shaved, so that every feature, every line . 
and angle were thrown into stronger 




I had not sent my name up to him, but 
simply an urgent message that a gentleman 
wished to see him on very pressing and 
important business, 

" Whom have I the pleasure to address ? " 
he inquired as he bowed stiffly- 

" My name is Dick Donovan," I answered. 
" I am __ » 

He interrupted me by exclaiming : — 

" Oh, yes, I have heard of you. You are 
a detective/' 1 bowed. 
" Presumably," he con- 
tinued, "you have come 
here in connection with the 
case of my dear niece ? " 
He seemed to be overcome 
by emotion, and turning 
towards the window he 
applied a large bandana 
handkerchief to his eyes. 

" I am not indifferent to 
the fact," I answered, " that 
the subject is necessarily a 
delicate and painful one. 
But from an interview I had 
with your niece I am forced 
to the conclusion that she 
is only guilty in degree." 

" How do you mean ? * 
he asked, turning quickly 
towards me, with an expres- 
sion of mental suffering on 
his face. 

"I mean that she is a 
victim to the machinations 
of a villain." 

"A victim," he echoed, 
hoarsely, " A victim to 
whom ? " 

" To your coachman," 

He almost reeled at this 
announcement, and passed 
his hand over his bald head 
in a confused, distressed 
way; and then, with some- 
thing like a wail he ex- 
claimed :— 

" My God, this is an 
awful revelation." 

He rushed towards the bell and was about 
to ring it when I stopped him by saying : — : 

" What are you going to do ? " 

"Send for Topper, the coachman.' 1 

"Wait a bit," I said. "I should like to 
have some particulars of Tupper. What is 
his Christian name ? " 


" Has he been with you long ? 

"Just twelve months, I think." 


u Have you ever had occasion to suspect 
his honesty ? " 

"Never for a single instant." 
" Is he married ? " 

" I cannot tell you, I absolutely know 
nothing about his family affairs." 

" Well now, I have a suggestion to make, 
Mr. Tarn worth, I should like you to send 
for Tupper, and question him closely about 
what happened on the day that the pendant 
was stolen. And particu- 
larly I would like you to put 
this question to him, after 
you have skilfully led up to 
it : 'Is it possible, Tupper, 
that my unhappy and mis- 
guided niece handed you 
the pendant, and you know 
what has become of it ? ' " 

u I will do so," answered 
Mr. Tarn worth, as he went 
towards the bell. 

"Stop a minute, sir," I 
said. " There is one other 
importan t poi n t 1 1 is desi r- 
able that Tupper should 
not see me. Can you con- 
ceal me behind that screen 
in the corner, and in such a 
position that I can see with- 
out being seen ? And you 
must not forget to place 
Tupper in such a way that 
I can get a full view of his 

"I don't think there will 
be any difficulty in that," 
Mr. Tamworth answered, 
and he requested me to 
follow him behind the 
screen. I did so, and taking 
out his penknife he bored a 
hole in one leaf of the 
screen, so that anyone look- 
ing through the hole com- 
manded a full view of the 

" There," he said, « I 
think that will answer your 
now we will have the old 
villain here." 

He rang the bell, and a very respectable- 
looking man-servant appeared, 

" Robert," said Mr. Tamworth, peremp- 
torily, "send the coachman here," 
" Tupper 's away, sir." 
" Yes. Hg wen? out last night and didn't 






"Where has he gone to?" roared Mr. 
Tamworth, in his excitement. 

" I haven't the remotest idea, sir/ 1 answered 

"The double-dyed villain/' hissed Mr. 
Tamwoith between his clenched teeth, " The 
double-dyed villain," he repeated, " But 
by Heaven he shall be brought back, 
even if it takes all my fortune to effect his 
capture. That will do, Robert. You may 


As the man took his departure and closed 
the door^ I stepped from behind the 
screen. Mr. Tamworth seemed terribly 

" This is an awful bit of business," 
he exclaimed ; " you see the arch 
villain has anticipated this discovery 
and bolted. What is to be done 

" We must arrest him in his flight," 
was my answer. " And to facilitate 
that you must furnish me with a full 
description of him." 

"Unless the rascal has removed it," 
said Mr. Tarn worthy " his likeness 
hangs over the mantelpiece, in his 
room above the stable, I will go and 
get it. You will excuse me." 

He hurried from the room, and was 
absent nearly a quarter of an hour 
Then he returned bearing a framed 
photograph in his hand. It was the 
likeness of a short, thick-set man in 
coachman's garb. He had grey 
whiskers and moustache, and grey 
hair ; and rather a scowling expression 
of face. I asked Mr, Tamworth if it 
was a good likeness of John Tupper, 
and he assured me it was a most 
excellent likeness- 
Promising Mr. Tamworth to do all 
I could to effect Tupper's arrest, I left 
Linden House } taking the photograph 
with me. As soon as I got back to 
London I hailed a hansom and drove 
Whitney, Blake, and Montague's. 

" My surmise about the coachman is 
correct," I said, as I showed them the like- 
ness, and told them that the man had fled. 
They acknowledged that the likeness was a 
very striking one t and as I intended to have 
it reproduced and sent broadcast all over the 
country, I was hopeful that I should be able 
to speedily bring about Tupper's arrest, 

I lost no time in putting the photo, in hand 
for reproduction, and in the meantime Miss 
Artois was again brought up before the 

solicitors were able to lay before him with 
reference to Tupper's flight, he no longer 
hesitated to admit the young Lidy to bail, 
her uncle being accepted for two thousand 
pounds, Two days after her release, young 
Kingsley called upon me again. He was 
terribly agitated, and throwing himself into a 
chair he rocked himself to and fro, and 
groaned with the anguish that tortured htm. 
When he had somewhat calmed down, he 
exclaimed in a voice that was broken up with 
the passion of his grief:— 


magistrate, and in view of the facts the not h 


" Mr. Donovan, help me with your advice, 
or I think I shall go mad. And above all, 
do not betray the confidence I am going 
to repose in you." I assured him that he 
might trust me, and" he proceeded, 

H Miss Artois came to me yesterday, 
and acknowledged that she was an un- 
conscious victim in this terrible business, and 
said that I must give her up. In spite of 
my entreaties, my prayers, my tears, she 
most resolutely declined to tell me whose 
victim she was, and with a great shudder she 
said her lips were -sealed with a seal she dare 


with me. I told 




her we would be married at once, and seek 
some corner of the earth where she would 
be safe, and her answer was that nowhere in 
the world would she be safe except in the 
grave. " 

" You did wrong in urging her to fly," I 

" I care not. Wrong, or no wrong, I will 
take her," he cried, passionately. " I tell 
you, Mr. Donovan, that there is some hideous 
mystery about this affair, and I will move 
heaven and earth to save Miss Artois from 
the machination that is destroying her body 
and soul." 

"Your devotion, your chivalry do you 
infinite credit," I replied. " Miss Artois 
shall be saved if it is possible to save her, 
but, believe me, she cannot be saved by flight. 
She must remain here subject to the law. 
To defy the law will be a fatal mistake." 

Although he did not seem to be quite 
convinced of the soundness of my advice, 
he promised to be entirely guided by me, 
and in a little while he took his departure, 
and then I sat down to reflect and ponder, 
and endeavour to unravel the threads 
of this tangled skein. One thing I re- 
solved on was to go down to Thames Ditton 
early on the morrow, and have an interview 
with Miss Artois in the presence of her 
uncle. In a little while my servant entered 
the room and handed me a postal packet, 
which, on opening, I found was from the 
lithographers who were reproducing the 
photograph. It contained the original and 
a note to say that the reproductions would 
be ready for distribution the first thing in 
the morning. 

Placing the photo, of Tupper on the table, 
I lit my pipe, and once more throwing myself 
in my favourite easy chair, I tried by the 
aid of smoke to solve the mystery sur- 
rounding Miss Artois. Presently I found 
myself almost unconsciously gazing on the 
photo, that lay on the table, in the full rays 
of the shaded lamp. Suddenly that face 
presented itself to me as one I had seen 
before; and I beat my brains, so to speak, 
to try and think where and when. " Whose 
face is it? Where have I seen it?" This 
was the question that, mentally, I repeated 
over and over again. 

After much cogitation, I threw away the 
stump of my cigar, went to my desk, and 
taking out a powerful magnifying glass, I 
returned to the table, and examined the 
likeness of John Tupper by means of the 
glass, until suddenly, like an inspiration, it 
flashed upon me where and when I had seen 

the face. It is not often I get excited, but I 
think I did on that occasion, for I felt 
certain that I had got hold of a clue to the 
mystery. I did not sleep much that night, 
and was up betimes in the morning, and 
hastened to call upon Mr. Kingsley, to 
assure him that I believed I was in a fair 
way to solve the mystery, and I hoped all 
would be well with Miss Axtois. 

A week later, on as dark and stormy a 
night in January as had been known during 
that winter, I was in an upper room in an 
old, untenanted house in the Borough. The 
owner of the house was Mr. Tamworth, of 
Thames Ditton. Stretched at full length on 
the dusty floor, with my eye glued to a hole 
that enabled me to command a view of the 
room beneath, I was witness of one of the 
most remarkable and dramatic scenes I had 
ever looked upon. Thirteen men were in 
the room, seated at a long deal table. Six 
sat on one side, six on the other. The 
thirteenth sat at the head, and was evidently 
the president Every man's face was con- 
cealed by a hood that entirely covered up 
the head, two holes being pierced for the 
eyes. Before the president was a china 
bowl, and laid across the bowl was a naked 

A small lamp was suspended from the 
ceiling and threw a feeble light over the scene. 
In a few minutes one of the men arose and 
placed a bull's-eye lantern on a shelf in a 
corner of the room, and in such a position 
that its rays fell full upon the doorway. That 
done the president rapped on the table with 
a wooden mallet Then the door opened 
and three men appeared. Two were hooded 
like the rest. The third was not hooded, 
and was placed at the end of the table opposite 
the president, and so that the light of the 
bull's-eye fell full upon his face. It was a 
cruel, cunning, almost fierce face. The man 
was without coat or waistcoat, and his shirt 
was opened and turned down, exposing his 
breast, while round his neck was a rope with 
the free end hanging behind. In a few 
minutes the president rose, and addressing 
the bareheaded man, said : — 

" Your name is Henry Beechworth ? " 

" It is." 

" Are you willing, Henry Beechworth, to 
join the Black Brotherhood ? " 

" I am." 

" And you are willing to take the oath that 
will bind you to us ? " 

" I am." 

'mtf^Ri*?<i,'^hf iPCWKAifead the oath to 
you." Here the president unrolled a little 

Vol. iv.— 39. 




scroll of paper he had held in his hand, and 
read out as follows : — 

" I, Henry Beechworth, hereby of my own 
free will join the Black Brotherhood, and I 
vow solemnly by heaven and earth to be true 
to them, and never utter a single word or 
give a sign that would be likely to betray any 
individual of the Brotherhood, or the Brother- 
hood collectively. And that at any time, 
should I be arrested, I will give no informa- 
tion against the Brothers, even though my 
life is at stake. Everything I obtain I will 
add to the common treasury, and I will at all 
times be subject to the ruling of the presi- 
dent, whoever he may be, These things I 
swear to do ; and should at any time I break 
my oi th, I hope that I shall go blind. I am 
aware that the rope I now hav: round my 

neck is a symbol that in the event of my 
betraying the Brotherhood their vengeance 
will pursue me to the ends of the earth, and 
that my life will be forfeited" 

11 You have heard what I have read ? " 
asked the president, 

"I have/' answered Beechworth, 

* £ And you will subscribe your name to it P" 

"I will" 

Here the president made a sign, and one 
of the two hooded men at the head of the 
table approached, and receiving the bowl and 
the dagger, he returned to the novitiate, who, 
instructed by the president, bent forward. 
Then the man took up the dagger and with 
its sharp point made ^ wound in the fleshv 

5£ "Jfi&ffiS^F&t 






once upon a time, 
a country called 
who had three 
each one more 
the other. The 


a King 



lovely than 

three sons of the neighbouring 
King of Velprato fell very much in love with 
these beauties, but just as the weddings were 
going to come off, the three Princes fell under 
the power of a wicked Fairy, who turned 
them all into different animals, and the father 
of the Princesses very naturally refused in 
consequence to let his daughters marry them, 
Thereupon the eldest Prince, who had 
been changed into an Eagle with magic 
power, summoned all the birds of the air to 
his aid. They came in swarms — sparrows, 
larks, thrushes, starlings, and every other bird 
you can think of; and the Eagle commanded 
them to devastate the whole country, not 
leaving a leaf or blossom on any tree. 

The second Prince, who had been changed 
into a Stag, called the goats, rabbits, hares, 
pigs, and all the other four-footed beasts, and 
ordered them to lay waste all the fields and 
ploughed land, and not to leave a single root 
or blade of grass. 

A Story for Children : 


The third Prince, who had been changed 
into a Dolphin, assembled all the monsters of 
the deep, and raised such a storm on the coasts 
of the country, that all the ships and trading 
vessels were lost and shattered to pieces, 

When the King saw that the only way to 
put an end to these troubles and disasters 
was to give the three Beasts his daughters 
in marriage, he gave in at last, though with 
much foreboding and many tears. 

When the Eagle, the Stag, and the 
Dolphin arrived to carry their brides off, 
their mother gave each of the Princesses a 
ring, saying as she did so : M My dear 
daughters, keep these rings carefully and 
always wear them, for if you separate and do 
not meet again for many years, or if at any 
time you come across any one of your own 
blood, you will always recognise each other 
by these talismans." 

So they took their departure and set out 
on their different ways. The Eagle carried 
Fabiella, who was the eldest sister, off to a 
lofty mountain above the clouds, where it 
never rained, but the sun shone perpetually, 
and here he ^av-2 her a magnificent palace, 
and|_BNfttgd-.her FteftOH^j 



The Stag bore Vasta, the second sister, 
away with him, right into the heart of a dark 
wood, and here he lived with her in the 
most beautiful house and garden you can 

The Dolphin swam with Rita, who was 
the youngest sister, on his back, right across 
the sea, till he came to a huge rock, and on 
the rock stood a house in which three 
crowned kings might have lived in comfort 
and luxury, 

In the meantime the Queen gave birth to 
a beautiful little boy, whom she called 
Tittone. When he was fifteen years old he 
determined to set out into the world and 
seek tidings of his three sisters, for his 
mother did nothing but bewail their loss, 
and the unhappy fate which had given them 
three Beasts for their husbands. At first his 
father and mother could not be prevailed on 
to let him go, but at length they yielded to 
his entreaties, and having provided him with 
a suitable escort and with a ring the same as 
his sisters, they took a tender farewell of him. 
So the young Prince set forth on his travels, 
and wandered for many years through all the 
different countries of the world without ever 
coming on a trace of the throe Princesses, 
At last one day he came to the mountain 
where Fabiella and the Eagle lived, and 
when he saw their palace Tittone stood still, 
lost in admiration of its marble pillars and 
alabaster walls, its windows of crystal and 
roof of glittering gold. 

As soon as Fabiella saw him she called 
him to her and asked him who he was, 
where he came from, and what business 
had led him thither When the Prince 
had described his native land, his father 
and his mother, and answered all the 
Princess's questions, Fabiella recognised 
him as her brother, and she became 
quite certain of the fact when she com- 
pared his ring with the one she always 
wore. She embraced her brother ten- 
derly; but, fearful lest her husband 
should object to his arrival, she hid him 
in a cupboard. 

When the Eagle came home that 
evening Fabiella confided to him that she 
was very home-sick, and that she had 
been suddenly seized with a strong desire 
to see her own people once more. The 
Eagle answered : "Try and get over 
this wish, my dear wife, for it cannot 
be fulfilled till I become a man 

" Well, then," said Fabiella, " if it is 
impossible for me to go to them, let 

us invite one of my relations to come and 
visit us here," 

"With all my heart," replied the Eagle, 
"but I don't think anyone would take the 
trouble to come such a long way to see you," 

" But suppose someone had come, and 
was in the palace at this moment, would you 
object?" asked his wife, 

"Of course not," answered the Eagle. 
" Any relation of yours would be as dear to 
me as the apple of my eye/' 

When Fabiella heard these words she took 
heart, and, going to the cupboard, she opened 
it, and showed the Eagle her brother hidden 

The Eagle greeted him warmly, and said : 




Original fram^ 



* You are most welcome, and it is a great 
pleasure to me to make your acquaintance, 
I hope you will consider yourself quite at 
home in my palace, and ask for anything 
you want." And he gave orders that every- 
thing was to be done for the comfort a, d 
entertainment of his brother-in-law. 

But after Tittone had stayed on the moun- 
tain for a fortnight, he remembered that he 
had still to find his other two sisters. He 
therefore asked his sister and her hus- 
band for permission 
to depart from their 
hospitable roof; but 
before bidding him 
farewell, the Eagle 
gave him one of his 
feathers, saying as he 
did so : "Take this 
feather, dear Tittone, 
and treasure it care- 
fully, for it will be of 
great use to you some 
day. If any misfortune 
should overtake you, 
throw it on the ground, 
and call out ' Help, 
help ! ' and I will 
come to you." Tittone 
took the feather and 
put it carefully away 
in his purse , then he 
took a tender leave 
of his sister and the 
Eagle, thanking them a thousand 
their goodness and hospitality to him. 

After a long and weary journey he came 
at length to the wood where the Stag lived 
with Vasta; and as he was nearly starving 
with hunger he went into the garden and 
began to eat the fruit he found there. His 
sister soon noticed him and recognised him, 
in the same way that Fabiella had done ; 
she hastened to introduce him to her hus- 
band, who received him in the most 
friendly manner, and entertained him sump- 

After spending a fortnight with Vasta and 
her husband, Tittone determined to set out 
and look for his third sister ; but before his 
departure the Stag gave him one of his hairs 
with the same words that the Eagle had 
spoken when he gave him one of his feathers 
to guard carefully. 

So Tittone departed on his way, and with 
the money the Eagle and Stag had given him 
he wandered to the uttermost parts of the 
world, where the sea at last put an end to 
his travels by land, and he was obliged to 

take ship and search through the islands for 
his third sister. At length, after many days, 
he came to the rock where Rita lived with 
the Dolphin. Hardly had he stepped on 
land when his sister perceived him, and 
recognised him at once, as the others had 
done. His brother-in-law gave him a warm 
welcome, and when, after a short time, 
Tittone expressed his desire to return home 
once more to his father and mother, 
the Dolphin gave him one of his scales with 


the same words that the Eagle and Stag had 
spoken when they gave him the feather and 
hair. So the young Prince took ship again, 
and when he reached the land he mounted a 
horse and rode on his way. 

But he had hardly ridden a mile from the 
coast when he came to a gloomy wood over- 
grown with thick brushwood and rank weeds* 
The Prince forced his way through it as best 
he could, and at last reached a lake with a 
high stone tower in the middle of it, at one 
of the windows of which sat a lovely maiden, 



with a terrible-looking Dragon asleep at her 
feet* As soon as she perceived the Prince 
she called out in a pitiful voice : 

" Oh ! beautiful youth, Heaven has sent 
you to rescue me from my sad fate ; I im- 
plore you to free mc from the clutches of this 
horrible monster, who has carried me away 
from my father, the King of Merovalle, and 
has shut me up in this gloomy tower, where I 
am nearly dead with loneliness and terror," 

" Woe is me," answered the Prince, "but 
what can I do to 
help you, lovely 
maiden, for what 
mortal could ever 
cross that lake ? 
and who could 
face this terrible 
Dragon, who 
spreads terror and 
desolation wher- 
ever he goes ? But 
wait a little, per- 
haps I may be able 
to summon other 
help to your aid." 
And with these 
words he threw the 
feather, the hair, 
and the scale, 
which his three 
brothers-in-law had 
given him, on the gruu 
out at the same time 
help! help!" 

In a moment the \ 
Stag, and the Dolphin 
before him, and crie 
voice : u Here we are, What are 
your commands ? " 

Tittone, who was overjoyed at 
their appearance, exclaimed: "I 
desire that this poor Princess 
should be freed from the clutches 
of that Dragon, and that I should carry her 
home with me as my bride." 

"Very well/' answered the Eagle, "all 
shall be done as you desire " ; and turning to 
the Stag he said, " let us lose no time, but let 
us strike while the iron is hot ! " 

With these words the Eagle gave a shrill 
cry, and in one moment the air was black 
with a flight of vultures, who flew into the 
window of the tower, and seizing the beautiful 
Princes^ they bore her over to the spot 
where the Prince and his brothers-in-law 
stood. And if the maiden looked as fair as 
the moon in the distance, when you saw her 
near she was as beautiful and radiant as the sun. 


But while Tittone was embracing her, and 
saying all manner of pretty things to his fair 
bride, the Dragon awoke, and flying out of 
the window he set upon Tittone, intending to 
kil 1 him on the spot. But in a second the 
?*»lg caused a quantity of lions, tigers, 
panthers, bears, and wild cats to appear, 
who sprang upon the Dragon and tore him 
to pieces with their claws. 

When Tittone and the Princess saw that 
their enemy was dead for ever, they deter- 
mined to leave the place as soon as possible, 
but before they started the Dolphin said : 

il I too would like to do something for 
you." And in order that no trace should 

remain of the grim 
castle where the 
Princess had spent 
such u n happy 
hours, he caused 
the waters of the 
Jake to overflow, 
and to beat so vio- 
lently against the 
tower that it fell, 
and the ruins dis- 
appeared in the 

Tittone thanked 
his brothers-in-law 
warmly for having 
thus rescued his 
beautiful bride, but 
the Beasts replied: 
" Our thanks are 
rather due to the 
Pri n cess, because i t 
is through her that 
we are able once 
more to assume 
our human forms. 
At our births, a 
wicked fairy, who 
owed our mother a 
grudge, condemned us, when we grew up, to go 
about the world in the shape of three beasts, 
until we should have rescued a King's 
daughter from some great danger ; the 
longed-for moment has come at last, and 
already w T e feel new life in our breasts rnd 
fresh blood flowing through our veins,*' and 
even as they were speaking, they turned into 
three beautiful young men, who, each in 
turn, embraced their brother-in-law, and 
made low bows to the Princess, who w~s 
nearly beside herself with joy and amaze- 

Then Tittone spoke with a sigh : " Ah ! 
why 4^1 Vi^ifcSQ^fi FfMhieH I'.iAH mother not 




share this joy with us ? What would they 
not give to see three such charming and 
beautiful sons-in-law ? " 

11 We will go to them at once," answered 
the three Princes ; " but first we must go and 
fetch our wives, so let us lose no time in 
setting forth on our journey.' 1 

But as they could not go on foot, and as 
they had no means of conveyance* except 
Tittone's one old horse, the bw others com- 
manded a chariot to appenr drawn by four 
lions, in which they ail five r;ated themselves. 
They travelled all through the night, and 
with such speed that they came next day to 
the various places where the wives of the 
three beast-brothers were waiting for them. 

After much rejoicing and embracing the 
whole eight of them continued their journey 
to the Kingdom of Verdecolle, where the 
King and Queen received their long-lost 
children — with what joy you can imagine ! 
which was only increased when they perceived 
their sons-in-law in their human shape, and 
the beautiful bride Tittone had brought back 
with him* They sent at once to tell the 
Kings of Velprato and Merovalle of the good 
fortune that had befallen their children, and 
invited them to a feast, the like of which for 
splendour and magnificence had never been 
seen before, and all the woes and troubles of 
the past were forgotten in the rejoicing and 
merrymaking of the present. 

'a chahiot urawn &v route lions." 

by Google 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things. 

■to- -:i 


HE two spirits, William and 
James {whom it again becomes 
the duty of the faithful reader 
of The Strand Magazine 
to remember ; whose images, 
indeed, should be deeply 
imprinted on his consciousness), had again 
foregathered in the solemn boundlessness of 
space and darkness, 

" Touching those worlds and human beings 

whose existence I imagined " said 


William yawned wearily, but, unable to 
plead any sudden excuse for departure 
which would not be too discourteously 
transparent^ resigned himself to the unavoid- 

** I have been studying this hypnotism of 
which I spoke as one of my fancies, and if 
you have no objection I fancy that I could — 
with your assistance — influence your mind to 

an extent which might enable you 
mentally to perceive some of the 
scenes which might be called into 
existence by the creation — if that were 

possible — of intelligent beings " 

"Intell— ?" said William, 
Well, well — beings possessed of 
reason — ah, as opposed to instinct I have 
not, perhaps, explained that I should propose 
the existence of other animals in addition to 
these human beings ; lower animals which 
would possess only instinct" 

"And what would be the difference 
between reason and instinct?" asked 

"Well," replied James. " Ah — well — 
instinct would be infallible, while reason 
would not Instinct would arrive— er — 
instinctively — at fact and truth," 

" Ah," said the objectionable William, 
"now I perceive the meaning of your phrase, 
* Reason as opposed to instinct' However, 
let us have a game at this hypnotism which 
you propose to try, I presume I am to 
attempt to subordinate my mind to yours — 
subordinate, as it were, instinct to mere 
reason - for the time being ? " 

They took the matter methodically in 
hand, and with such success that, within a 
few particles of eternity, James a:ked his 
companion spirit whether he seemed to 



" Why — upon my word, yes ! I seem to 
be conscious of a most hideous huh hub, 
discord, babel, and confusion — of an incessant 


wrangling, recrimination, and grumbling, It's 
perfectly bewildering and awful I seem to 
see musses of forms, all struggling, and 
kicking, and rending one another — crawling 
over and treading on each other. What a 
horribly unpleasant state of affairs ! " 

" That's it 1 JJ cried James, with excited 
enthusiasm, " That's one of my worlds ! 
Those are my human beings ! You perceive 
it all perfectly ! Now I wish you to tell me 
what strikes you most forcibly amid the 

" Why — well — here are a group of human 
beings screaming with acute lamentation all 
in one key. They appear to be screaming 
for * babies T : they are calling upon the sky 
to rain down babies on their land, and upon 
the sea to wash up babies on the shore in 
shoals, like herrings ! What can they require 
all those babies for ? Surely not to eat ? " 

" Oh, no ; not to eat To increase the 
population. You will recall our touching 
upon the mania of these human creatures for 
increase of population, in our last talk on the 
subject ? Well, this group of creatures are 
the legislators of one of the nations, and 
they are frantic with grief because the 
population does not increase with sufficient 

"Ah, yes," said William, "I perceive that 
they have temporarily ceased their shrieks of 
lamentation in order to discuss various wild 
projects for increasing the population more 
rapidly. They are proposing taxes on 
bachelors, and premiums on large families, 
and other equally strange expedients. What 

very eccentric fellows, to be sure ! Whatr<i« 
they require all these babies for ? * 

" To— er— kill ! Not to kill while babies, 

but after they are 
grown up' into 
soldiers. The 
beautiful philopro 
genitive instinct is 
very strong in these 
human beings of 
mine ; their tender- 
ness towards child- 
ren is really touch- 
ing. There are 
many societies for 
the protection of 
children ; and 
human Govern- 
ments are very 
severe upon vio- 
lence to children. 
You see — er — if 
an infant is killed 
it is— er— disqualified for being subsequently 
slaughtered on the field of battle. 

" Infanticide is regarded as a most heartless 
crime. You now perceive that that group of 
legislators are glaring at an adjacent island 
containing another nation, and are shrieking 
with anger and envy ! That is because that 
insular nation has so many more babies, and 
increases so much more rapidly in popula- 

" Oh, ah, yes ! I perceive the island you 
mention/ 1 said William, " It appears to me 
to be inconveniently crowded already ; in 
fact, it seems unable to produce food enough 
to support its population." 

u Oh ! it is — it is ! It is a most happy 
island ; the happiness of a given district 
being always measured by its population, A 
large tract of land filled with the beauties of 
inanimate nature, but having a population 
insufficient to pollute the air, is considered a 
very sad sight ; and earnest efforts are always 
made to crowd it with immigrants." 

" I perceive an enormous congregation of 
your human beings on this island— a dense 
mass of them, all pushing and squeezing for 
want of space, and seething over each other 
as if they were boiling," said William* 

"Yes," explained James, "that is the 
capital of the island, and the largest city in 
this particular world. It is so crowded that 
the air is unfit to breathe, and is full of 
sulphur and other poisons from the fires 
made by the inhabitants. Perfect health is 
unknown within its bounds. Everybody 
suflrerb) f'tlbftPfeitiBLll^i firAAW. ftlt l si.4iWer 1 and has to 




suddenly * knock off' from active business for 
about three weeks in every month ; everyone 
is in the doctor's hands all the year round — 
that is, while the doctor is not prevented from 
attending him by being ill in bed himself; 
you see, as the general illness originates from 
overwork, and as the doctors are, under the 
circumstances, the most overworked section 
of the community, the doctors are generally 
a little more ill than their patients. 

41 Everybody suffers from chronic nerves, 
and 'J um P s / and 
( blues/ and various 
other diseases with 
similar scientific 
names; in fact, every- 
body has nothing par- 
ticular the matter with 
him — no serious illness 
—and is in consequence 
always seriously ilL It 
is all the result of civili- 
zation or o%er-popula- 
tion — which are ex- 
changeable terms for 
the same thing/ 1 

"Hum!" grumbled 
the unreflecting Wil- 
liam, " Don't quite 
see why they need be 
Why can't your civilized 
communities draw the 
line when the popula- 
tion has reached its 
comfortable limits, and 
smother the super- 
fluous individ " 

"Oh, William! How 
can you? What a 

horrible idea! Smother their 
fellow-creatures ! No, William ; 
morality, piety, the better feel- 
ings of the community would, 
with one accord, rebel against 
so hideous and shocking an 
expedient — nay, it would not 
do at all. I have told you 
that the surplus population are 
required to be smashed and 
torn to death by explosives, 
and cut to pieces with swords, 
and so forth. Pray, do not 
make such dreadful suggestions 
again ! This city increases 
its population with incredible 
rapidity ; as, in fact, the envy 
of the world, and is always 
pointed to as a model. 1 ' 

"What a noise of cheering 
there is over in that part of the city ! " 
exclaimed William, "There are all sorts 
of decorations t and illuminations, and tri- 
umphal arches," 

" Ah ! that parish has gained the prize for 
the highest birth-rate ; and you perceive 
it is erecting immense buildings within its 
bounds. These are ne 1 " workhouses to 
receive the increment of population, which 
will> of course, be unable to find a means 
of livelihood That parish is the champion 
parish of that great 
city — a guiding star for 
all the parishes in the 
world. The paupers 
in it — two-thirds of 
the entire population 
— have just been put 
on half rations in conse- 
quence of the in- 
creasing strain on the 
parish resources ; but 
those paupers are wise 
enough to perceive 
that increase of population is the 
greatest boon, the highest aim, of 
a community ; and are filled with 
public-spirited joy at the deduction 
from their allowance of food. 

M Let me show you a picture of 
the place a few hundred years later 
— a year is a small division of time. 
It would be difficult to make you 
understand exactly what I mean 
— by the abstract thing called Time, 
which I have conceived. Never 

Something seemed to whirl past 

UMiM5ffi s, 3raSi^tf" lkm; ™' 




then another picture of the 
same island seemed to 
present itself before htm. 
He fell to coughing and 
gasping violently, arid grew 
purple in the face* 

" Oh, dear — what a 
horrible atmosphere ! " he 
exclaimed, "I can't 
breathe 1 Whatever is the 
matter ? What a dreadful 
pressure of elbows there 
is all round me ; and how 
the ground moves about 
under one's feet as if there 
were an earthquake ! }t 

11 It isn't an earthquake," 
explained James ; " it is 
merely that part of the 
populati m which, being 
weaker, has got trodden 
under foot — t here being 
insufficient standing-room 
on the island for all The 
stratum of those trodden 
under foot is about 15ft. 
deep by this time ; and 
you may perceive that 
fresh numbers are con- 
tinually falling from pressure and suffocation, 
there being, of course, insufficient air for all. 

" But, just consider ! - — the birth-rate is 
always steadily on the increase^ and the popu- 
lation is more jubilant than ever. It is a 
most happy island ; and all the other nations 
are mad with envy." 

" Here ! Help ! I don't like this ! " 
screamed William. u I'm being whirled 
away by the crowd, and nearly torn to 
pieces! Why are they all rushing so? 
What's the matter P " 

"Oh, they have only caught sight 
of a scrap of food," said James, u You 
see, the island can neither produce 
nor import anything approaching a 
sufficiency of food for the population, 
so everyone is chronically ravenous. 
But this by no means discounts the 
jubilation at the magnificent birth-rate. 
Here, give me your hand, and let me 
help you up to this place of comparative 
safety, on the roof of this cathedral, 
where the pressure of the crowd is less 
great That's all right" 

" What is the matter with that throng 
ov .T there ? Why do they give evi- 
dence of such wild indignation ? " 

" It is a meeting of working-men, 
convened to express indignation at a 

suggestion lately made 
that some of them should 
emigrate in search of the 
employment and subsis- 
tence which they cannot 
find here. If they can get 
hold of the author of the 
heartless suggestion, they 
will tear him in pieces. 
He has had the cynical 
effiontery to propose that 
they shall proceed across 
the ocean, and settle on 
a fertile tract of country 
where every one of them 
would have room, nure 
air, and plenty of tood ! 
As he has gone there 
himself, they unfortunately 
cannot get at him to rend 
him limb from limb." 

" And who is this young 

man over whom so many 

are weeping, and who is 

evidently the victim of some terrible 

misfortune ? " 

" Oh I why, he is a very extraordi- 
nary person, with a strangely warped 
mind; in fact, the majority of the 
population look upon him as insane He 
has actually decided to emigrate to that 
country across the ocean, and get a breath 
of fresh air and sufficient meals, He is 
looked upon as the victim of pernicious 
machinations, and sincerely pitied. See, he is 

qmal from 

pushing toward 
the sea-shore, 
and making his 
way over the 
bodies of those 
who have been 
squeezed out at 

^UUV£R!i4T«id&MICHIG.4Ne edge of the 



land into the sea- 
Now he reaches 
one of the ships 
which lie, packed 
like pilchards, in 
the channel Poor 
fellow I Perhaps he 
may never more 
behold the happy 
land of his child- 
hood, where the 
birth-rate is so 

" There is an- 
other meeting," 
said William. 
" They are lament- 
ing the increasing 
tendency of young 
men to remain 
ba ch elors , i n stead 
of marrying and 

bringing up large families. This state of 
things is deplored as very serious and regret- 
table, and as a very unfortunate omen for 
the future of ^ the population; and they 
proceed to suggest and consider means for 
inducing young men to marry at as early an 
age as possible, It is a very sad meeting ! " 

" Yes," said James \ " you see they are 
beginning to fear that the race is dying out. 
That person speaking is a 
celebrated statistician, who 
has made a calculation, show- 
ing that^ should the birth-rate 
continue on the same meagre 
lines, in the course of one 
hundred years everyone would 
find space to sit do ,.n ; in two 
hundred years folks would be 
obliged to stick out their el bows 
in order to touch one another 
continuously over the whole 

" What a terrible picture ! 
Tears come into the eyes of the 
orator as he draws it : * Where/ 
he asks, would be that compact- 
ness and unity which are the 
only safeguards of a nation ? 
How could man keep touch 
with man ? Think of that cold* 
hopeless j terrible void be- 
tween one beating human 
heart and another ! 

" See — they are pre- 
senting a testimonial to 
an extremely deserving 
citizen, one Jones, a 

lower middle classes, who is 
a family of no less than thirty- 

person of the 
possessed of 

seven. That man is certain of a career ; he 
lias only to express a wish for any public 
office, to receive it at once ; and see, 

even now the meet- 
ing suggests the 
creation of a new 
office in the Minis- 
try on purpose for 
Jones — the office 
of 'Encourager of 
the Birth-rate/ at a 
salary of five thou- 
sand a year," 

"Dear me, that is 

very unfortunate!" 

exclaimed William. 

"What's the 

matter ? " asked 

'jones,* James, 

"That meeting, 

just when about to hit upon a practical plan 

for arresting the decline of the birth-rate, 

have been all smothered by the pressure of 

numbers ! Ha ! What is that ? Surely the 

sound of a trumpet ! See — look ! That nation 

which is so filled with envy of the insular 

nation is about to make war upon it" 

" Ha ! " cried James> triumphantly, 

we shall see how the birth-rate tells ! 

we shall se^ how the 

with the largest population 

has the incalculable advantage 

over the one which What 

" Now 


is the matter now ? " 

"Why, the envious nation 
with the low birth-rate has 
completely conquered the insu- 
lar one, and is jumping on its 
flag ] " 

" Pooh ! All a mistake ! " 
s crea med James, "I m possi bl e. 
How about its vast population, 
ready at the call of its native 
land to rise against the foe ? " 

"Why," replied William, 
"the vast population ready at 
the call of its native land 
somehow smothered and 
crushed itself to death in the 
attempt to get to the foe ; and, 
as it was a dense mass, the 
foe's cannon had greater effect 
upon it ; and then the foe, 
having a lower birth-rate, 
and consequently more elbow- 





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By H* M. Beerbohm, 


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From the German of Frefherr Gujdy 

T is just half a century since I 
closed the eyes of my good 
father — the best of comrades, 
the fondest of husbands, the 
most honest Venetian of his 
time. Ah, if you had known 
my father, you would have acknowledged 
him the hardiest, boldest fellow in the 
Republic, the cleverest mandolin-player, the 
best singer of Tasso, the smartest gondolier 
whose oars ever lashed to foam the waters 
of the Canalazzo, All this must be my 
excuse for rescuing from the oblivion of the 
fleeting years the fragment of his life I now 

My father felt his end approaching. With 
closed eyes he lay on a couch stuffed with 
maize-straw, a rosary in his wrinkled hands, 
and his pale lips moving in silent prayer. A 
death-like stillness filled the room, broken 
only by the sobs of wife and children, The 
rays of the evening sun burst through the 
vine-espalier that grew round our home ; 
and over the face of the dying passed now 
patches of rosy light, and now the shadows 
of the broad leaves. Presently he opened 
the large, black, deeply-sunken eyes once 
more, looked slowly round as if to make sure 
that we were all there, and then began 
wearily and with difficulty to speak. 

"For years, now," he said, " I have been 
wanting to make you the confidants of a 
strange, almost incredible, event which hap- 
pened to me in my youth, I put it off from 

day to day, for one reason or another — but I 
put it off too long. Now, I know not whether 
the time that is left me suffices for the telling 
of this long-guarded secret Listen, how- 
ever — but first swear on this dying hand that 
no word of the secret shall pass your lips till 
fifty years have gone* The heir of a great 
and powerful family has been involved in the 
destiny of so humble a man as myself — and 
the Tribunal of the Inquisition was com- 
pelled to intervene. An unguarded word 
may expose you to the vengeance of an un- 
disciplined and powerful nobility, or to the 
severity of the legal authorities. Swear, there- 
fore, a silence of fifty years ! n 

We obeyed the last command of our 
father; we laid our hands in his, and pro- 
nounced the binding oath. We have kept 
it faithfully my mother and sisters till their 
death ; I, the last surviving, till the period 
assigned has expired, and the time arrived 
when I have to fear neither the vengeance of 
the nobles nor the tyranny of the Council of 
Ten ; but to the point 

" It was at three o'clock on a sultry summer 
afternoon ? '— began my father — "that I sat 
myself down at the base of the granite pillar 
which supports the saintly Teodoro, and 
stretched my lazy limbs on the stone slabs 
below it I fell to counting, with sleepy eyes, 

VnL iv,— 43, 




and tried again — feeling my eyelids becoming 
heavier with each number I told. The foot- 
steps of the guard holding watch under the 
colonnade fell ever duller and fainter on my 
ears. Now and then one of the pigeons from 
the Place of St, Mark whirred past over my 
head ; hastening to seek refuge from the glow- 
ing heat under the eaves of the church. It 
was so still, that I could hear the little wave- 
lets as they broke against the bows of the 
gondolas. All the world was having its 
siesta, and I was in a good way to follow 
suit, when the shout, l Hi ! Antonello, up 
there ! A league's row on the canal ! ' startled 
me out of my doze. 

"The shout proceeded from Count Orazio 
Memmo — the most amiable good-for-nothing 
in all Venice, Three-and-twenty years old, 
tall and slim, a well-cut pale face, with the 
blackest and most brilliant eyes in the world; 
as clever as daring, as rich as generous, a 
bold gamester, a passionate worshipper of 
women — such was my patron. 

" Mistrustful of the gondoliers of his uncle, 
the Councillor, in whom, not without ground, 

he suspected spies 
on his goings and 
comings, the young 
gallant needed on 
his adventures a 
quick-witted, fear- 
less fellow, a silent, 
perfectly reliable 
assistant — and in 
me he had found 
his man. Ah, 
when I think of 
those old wild 
times, those bril- 
liant Carnivals, 
those nightly revel- 
ries and serenades, 
those mysterious 
rendezvous in the 
gardens of the Giu- 
decca ! Fathers 
and lovers cursed 
Orazio Memmo 
worse than the 
Grand Turk, and 
many a handful of 
silver coin has 
poured into my 
cap when my swift 
gondola has dis- 
tanced the enraged 
pursuer, and I 
have landed the 
happy lover, un- 
discovered, on the marble steps of the Casa 

"Quick as thought did I spring to my legs 
at the sound of the well-known voice, then 
loosed the chain from the stake, and when 
his Excellency had seated himself on the 
luxurious cushions, pushed off vigorously 
from the land. 

"The boat may have been gliding gently 
over the water for about a half-hour. In- 
audibly fell the oar into the green waves — 
but there was no hurry, and my patron had 
no aim but to dream away an hour in dole* 
far nienit. Presently, however, a foreign 
gondola rushed up with hasty strokes of the 
oars behind us, and then shot quickly past. 
The deck was covered with a silver carpet 
streaked in red, and the heavy silk tassels 
that hung from the gunwales trailed along 
the surface of the water. The two rowers 
were clothed in a rich stuff of the same 
design. In front of the cabin sat on a 
brocaded cushion a Moorish boy, with a 
broad golden neck-band^ a dagger hanging 
from glittering chains by his side, and balanc- 






ing on his fist a shrill, rainbow-coloured 
parrot. The Venetian blinds were drawn 
up on both sides, and the eye could penetrate 
into the interior of the boat as she flew 

"On the cushions reclined a divinely beauti- 
ful woman. A closely-fitting, gold-embroidered 
over-garment enveloped her dainty figure, 
and wide, open pantaloons of Eastern cut fell 
over her little slippers prettily worked in 
flowers* The long golden hair descended 
from the snowy whiteness of the brow, and 
fell in curly waves upon the shoulders and 
bosom, But how can I describe to you the 
sorcery of that lovely countenance, the moist 
glance of those black eyes, the smile that 
played around those pomegranate lips ? As 
the foreign boat floated past our own, the 
lady put down the long- necked guitar, on 
whose golden strings her fingers had been 
dallying, and, with a skilful throw, cast a lily 
into our cabin, calling out at the same time 
a few foreign-sounding words. The rowers 
at once began to ply their oars lustily, and in 
the twinkling of an eye were a hundred yards 
in front. 

"' Follow, follow, AntonelloT cried the 
patrician — ' twenty sequins are thine if we 
overtake her, if we discover the home of this 
angelic stranger/ 

" ( You may Tely upon me, Excellent ; so 
long as the oar does not break, and my arm 
retains its strength, the beautiful heathen 
shall not escape us.' 

'* And now to keep my word — to maintain 
my hard-won fame, Swift as the flight of 
doves fled the stranger before us, and like a 

bloodthirsty falcon we followed up behind. 
On the left they turned into one of the side 
streets, and there seemed to slacken their 
speed as if to make sure that we had not 
lost their track, as if they wished to be fol- 
lowed—and then once more started in wild 
haste through large and small canals — right 
and left, and then straight forward --past San 
Nicolo — till at last both the gondolas were 
rocking on the waters of the lagoon that lies 
on the road to Fusina. 

"Still onwards fled the enchanting boat 
Sometimes it was as if a shooting star was 
before us, so gloriously did the sun stream 
down on the glittering deck, and I was 
obliged to close my eves to shut out the 
glare, and cease for a moment to row. Then 
the Count would urge me on to still greater 
efforts, and I would fall on my knee, and 
drive the oar deep into the water till the foam 
swirled high to the ironn^omb of the figure- 

"From out of the pursued gondola 
sounded now and then the sharp cry of the 
parrot, and then again the notes of a lute, to 
which the Moorish boy answered with the 
rattle of the tambourine^ and at intervals 
the bewitching, enticing voice of the Eastern, 
She sang : — 

Where arcades of oleander, 

1'urple in the gloaming show, 
Where in founts marmorean wander, 
Kish that gold and silvern glow ; 
Where nightingales 
Sigh out i heir wails, 
To love -sick maidens murm'ring low- 
Origin a I There, there, 

UNIVERSITY flnifiteW ■"* sW 



Where the darts from Phrehus' quiver 

Never pierce the myrtle groves, 
Where by many a lonely river 
Birds trill out their happy loves ; 
Where the gushing 
Streamlet rushing 
Through I he starlit dingle roves- 
There, there, 
Shalt thfiu with me my secret share. 

Orazio Memmo, one of the cleverest impro- 
vises of his time, seized my zither, and 
answered at once ; — 

Where ihou leaclest I will follow. 

Sweet enigma, after ihee ; 
Heed I not if joy or sorrow 
The guerdon of my quest shall he — 
Vet on the strand* 
Knchan tress, land, 
And if thy heart incline to me— 
There, there, 
Shall I with thee thy secret share. 

" We were approaching nearer and nearer 
to the strange gondola. Our bow cut anew 
the waves before the track of theirs had 


*Ayjgi'iized b; 


disappeared on the water, and the foam that 
followed her was like a silver cord which she 
had thrown out to drag us, !ike prisoners, 
behind her. Thus we ran into the Brenta 
Canal, flew past the sumptuous villas and 
pleasure houses of the rich Venetians, and 
stopped before a high marble portal, through 
the gilt bars of which we could look into 
a spacious garden laid out with princely 

"The stranger stepped out. By San Marco ! 
a queenly form with witching grace in every 
movement. Slowly she turned her face, 
lighted with the sweetest smile, once more 
toward my master; from the soft, black, 
gazelle-like eyes gleamed on him a friendly 
light, and then she moved forward from the 
spot The little Moor, holding a gaudy - 
sunshade over the head of his mistress, and 
the chattering bird on his fist, followed close 
at her heels. The gates flew open, shut 
clashing behind them ; the pair then slowly 
approached the castle through 
a lane formed of laurels and 
myrtles, and vanished. 

(t 'Beautiful as a dream!' 
cried Sign or Memmo, rousing 
himself from his bewilder- 
ment; 'and to whom does the 
garden, the castle, belong ?* 

,( ' I do not know at all, 

Excellenza ; I see them to-day 

for the first time ; and yet 

this is the Brenta Canal — a 

thousand times have I rowed 

over it; I know every gate, 

every villa, every bush— but, 

by San Antonio, never have I 

seen a stone of this castle 

before, Ah, Illustrissimo, take my word for 

it, all is not as it should be here! It is the 

delusion of the devil, nothing more. Utter 

but one "paternoster," and the whole 

phantasm will vanish like a streak of mist. 

Have you not heard of vampires? You have 

only to ask the Grecian and Illyrian boatmen, 

and they will tell you how the wraiths of these 

child-murderers appear as young and beautiful 

women, and fill with love the brains of the 

young men, and suck out their hearts 1 blood 

as they slumber And such a vampire 

is the Kastern princess there — I will 

take the sacrament to it ! Take my advice, 

Excellenza, Let us return, and that as 

quickly as possible. Here we stand on 

unholy ground.' 

** I looked round now for the strange gon- 
dola; she Jim yaj-iishetl completely, as though 
swallowtfa'^By-xM '^rmranl'J-T'f'pointed this 



out to my master; he called me superstitious 
and a simpleton. I began to repeat an 
'ave,' but the castle refused to vanish, and 
remained before my eyes a substantial and 
obstinate fact. Black cypresses looked with 
elongated necks over the wall, and fig-trees 
stretched gnarled branches like fingers to- 
wards us, as if to beckon us in. Glittering 
lizards crept up the parapets and looked at 
us with sparkling, spiteful eyes. On the 
cornices stood hideous figures in marble of 
the most repulsive ugliness — goat - footed 
satyrs that made faces at us, little hunch- 
backed creatures with three-cornered hats, 
crinolined dames with horses' heads, dragons, 
griffins, monsters with grins and leers and 
distortions that only diabolus could invent. 
Among the hateful masks walked a peacock 
with a long trailing tail, its blue neck shim- 
mering in the sun. 

" * How to get into the garden?' murmured 
Count Orazio, staring dreamily before him. 
' The gate might be scaled — a bold spring, 
and ' 

" 'What are you thinking of, Excellen- 
tissimo ? ' said I, warningly. ' For the 
Madonna's sake, give up the thought. Your 
body and soul are alike at stake. Believe 
me, the devil walketh about like a roaring 
iion, seeking whom he may devour.' 

" My warning sounded in deaf ears. He 
had already sprung from the gondola, when 
a wicket opened, and an old Moor stepped 
before him with a deep curtsey ; he brought 
a request from his mistress, the Signora 
Smeralda, for the honour of a visit in her 
garden. In vain did I hold back the blinded 
and intoxicated patrician by his black silk 
mantle ; in vain did I try to excuse myself 
from following him ; he rushed through the 
gate, dragging me with him, while the old 
slave remained to guard our gondola. 

" Strange flowers, never seen before, such as 
can only be supposed to grow in the pleasure- 
gardens of the Great Mogul himself, nodded 
drowsily to us as we passed. Rainbow- 
coloured birds flew from branch to branch, 
twittering, singing, shouting with almost 
human voice, like a chorus of happy, chatter- 
ing maidens. Once an ugly, long -tailed 
monkey swung himself down from a tree 
before us, holding on with his tail to a 
branch; grinned spitefully at us, and then 
hurried off once more into the wilderness of 
foliage. From one of the side alleys stepped 
a purple-coloured stork, as gravely as a 
major-domo, before us, swayed his long neck 
hither and thither, as if bowing to us, and 
then walked forward as our guide, ever and 

anon looking round to see if we followed. 
For my part, I followed as in a dream, 
resisting, and yet drawn forward as by some 
inexplicable magic. 

" Presently we stood before an immense, 
strange-looking tree, with broad shining 
leaves hung thick with silvery bell-shaped 
blossoms. In the shade of its branches lay 
costly Persian carpets and cushions of 
crimson velvet embroidered in pearls, and 
on them the heathen Princess, surrounded 
by a bevy of beauteous maidens, was 
reclining with the utmost grace. The little 
Moor stood at her head, fanning her with a 
broad fan of bright peacock's feathers. The 
red stork, which had hitherto walked before 
us, now stood still, opened wide his legs, 
drove his long beak into the earth, and so, 
slightly raising its wings for cushions, formed 
a three-legged easy chair on which Count 
Orazio, at a sign from the lady, sat down. 

" Lost in gazing at the fair Smeralda, the 
Count had sat down speechless before her, 
while she, calling for her lute, discoursed 
sweet music ; I had stood beside his tripodal 
chair torn by many feelings, when the young 
Moor with a cunningly-worked golden goblet 
full of a dark-red foaming wine stepped up to 
my master. 'Drink not of this brew of 
hell, Signor ! ' I whispered, and at the same 
time felt myself embraced by the white arm 
of a lovely little witch who offered me a 
similar draught 

" My first instinct was to spurn from me the 
beautiful little elf, to dash away the magic 
draught — but the wine gave out so sweet an 
aroma, sparkled so enticingly, so brightly, 
within the golden walls ! The eyes of the 
elf glanced so entreatingly at me, her arms 
wound themselves so tenderly about me — ah, 
the spirit truly was willing, but the flesh was 
weak ! 

" Only one sip, thought I, only the wetting 
of the tip of my tongue — that will hardly 
cost me my neck. And then I sipped, I 
tasted, I sucked, I gulped down the liquid 
to the very last drop — then I fell on the 
neck of the pretty temptress, and on looking 
round saw my master on his knees before 
the seductive Smeralda. I touched with my 
own the lips of my charmer — my senses 
whirled in a transport of delight — when, 
breathless from out the bushes rushed the 
negro boy, crying : * Fly ! Fly ! All is lost ! 
Porporinazzo, our gracious master, is coming ! 
He raves in his rage ! ' 

"Ah, the warning voice had come too late; 
scarcely had it sounded when a short, 
globular creatiue/^iiifHihe'.fJForm and colour 




of a dark-red apple, rolled up to Smeralda 
and her inamorato. On close observation 
there might certainly be discovered some 
indications, at the extremities of the creature, 
of the existence of limbs, which you might 
or might not take to be head, arms, and 
legs ; but of the depressions and bumps at 
the north pole of this globe, to construct in 
fancy eyes, nose, and mouth, required a 
quite special faculty of which I was not the 

" ' Is this the thanks, serpent, for the trust 
reposed in you?' shrieked Porporinazzo to 
the pale Smeralda. 'Is this the reward of 
my true and constant love? You stoop to 
this unbelieving dog ; and me, me, Don 
Porporinazzo, the Grand Master of the 
Wardrobe of the Sultan, thou desertest ! 
Ha, by Mahomet's sacred cat, this cries 
aloud for bloody vengeance ! Slaves, ap- 
proach ! ' 

"Six negroes, with diabolical physiogno- 
mies, with arms and sabres bare, started from 
the hedges, seized Orazio and myself, and tied 
our hands behind our backs. In vain did 
the Count plead his inviolability as a Vene- 
tian noble ; in vain did he threaten with the 
wrath of the Doge and of the Senate. 
The little Grand Master made a sign with 
his little arm — a flash, a sabre-stroke — and 
our two heads were rolling on the ground ! 

" My fair one had long ago fled behind 
the myrtle hedge, and Signora Smeralda had 
taken the stereotype step of ladies in 
desperate circumstances — -she had fainted. 
The tyrant Porporinazzo, proud of his 
bloody deed, had now retired once more 
into the palace. I could see all, for my 
head was lying on the ground, with its nose 
turned skywards. Once or twice I made 
convulsive efforts with my arms to catch it, 
and fix it on my trunk again — but my hands 
clutched only empty air, and sank, nerveless, 
down. No words can describe my condi- 
tion ; only those who have found themselves 
in a like position, and felt their heads at so 
unreasonable a distance from their bodies, 
can at all appreciate my emotions at that 

" The spherical Grand Master of the Ward- 
robe had scarcely turned his back, when 
Smeralda awoke out of her faint, burst into 
a flood of tears, and despairingly wrung her 
hands. At the same moment my fugitive 
loved one emerged from her hiding place, 
but lost no time in meaningless common- 
places, urging on her mistress to make the 
best of the precious moments. 

" c For heaven's sake, Signora,' she said, 

1 send for a doctor, the cleverest there is to 
be had Quick! With every second the 
blood grows colder and colder. In five 
minutes it will be too late. The magic 
doctor, Bartolinetto, of Padua, would be 
just the man — only quick, quick ! Send 
Don Flamingo to Padua — for on his activity 
and fidelity we can safely rely.' 

" ' Happy thought, Libella,' answered the 
Princess ; c call the Don.' 

" She clapped her hands thrice. The great 
red stork strode quickly up, and at a few 
whispered words from the elf, nodded as if 
in assent, and flew crowing into the ain 

" Four pairs of eyes gazed now wittyanxious 
expectancy towards heaven. A horrid pause, 
during which the fair ladies dared not; and 
the Count and I could not, breathe, ensued. 
But before you could say a l paternoster' there 
was once more a rushing noise high in the 
air, and the mighty bird stormed down, 
holding Doctor Bartolinetto, like a halfpenny 
doll, in his beak, and placed him, a little 
thin brown man, neat and well dressed, 
though a little out of breath, upon the 

"A glance sufficed to make the learned 
man acquainted with the state of affairs. 
He felt our pulse, then drew from his pocket 
the famous Perlimpimpino powder, his own 
infallible discovery, and turned up his coat 
sleeves. He was grumbling all the time at 
the indelicacy of his being interrupted in 
the middle of a lecture and dragged forcibly 
out of his college, to the scandal of his 
audience, and loudly bemoaned the derange- 
ment of his powdered wig, which had some- 
what suffered in his aerial journey ; then he 
seized my head by the nose, sprinkled some 
of the Perlimpimpino powder on the neck, 
dabbed it on to the defective part, took 
Orazio's head, did the same with that — we 
sneezed three times with some emphasis, 
sprang blithely up, shook ourselves, sneezed 
once more — the cure was complete ! 

" The fair ones flew joyfully to our arms ; 
on my cheek burned the kiss of the beautiful 
Smeralda, while Libella hugged the Count — 
but to kiss, to tear away from the embrace, 
to utter a startled cry, was the work of an 
instant. Dreadful mistake ! The doctor in 
his hurry had stuck my head on Orazio's 
shoulders, and that of the noble on the 
trunk of the poor gondolier ! 

" On recovering from the first shock at the 
discovery we turned to vent our wrath on 
the doctor. The nobleman promised him a 
hundred lashes, and I threatened still worse 
things, unless he restoredntQ-each his own. 




Poor Bartolinetto shrugged his shoulders till 
they reached his ears, made the most profuse 
apologies, and sought to pacify us with the 

soon hopelessly confused, and ended hy 
advising us to return to Venice and lay our 
case before the magistrates. 


sophism that * after all, a head was a head.' 
But everyone felt the hollowness of the 
plea; Smeralda called him a * wretched old 
quack/ Libella threatened to make for his 
eyes. His reproaches of ingratitude were 
unheeded, his suggestion of a fee was rejected 
with scornful laughter. At a sign from 
Libella, he was again seized by the stork, 
and carried back thus ignominiously to 

11 We now directed our rage against each 
other. Our imprecations and threats would 
soon have developed into actual violence, 
had not each feared to do a part of himself 
some injury while belabouring his antagonist. 
Which was now Orazio, which Antundlo ? 
Which noble man, and which gondolier? 
My old head pleaded its new and noble body 
as the most important half, maintaining that 
the hull of a ship alone determined its 
class, the flag which might happen to be hoisted 
at its stern being a mere secondary detail. 
My opponent, on the other hand* compared 
himself to a column in which the capital is 
the sole feature determining to what order it 
is to belong. The two fair ladies tried to 
settle our dispute — but they were themselves 

" Coldly we bid them farewell and departed, 
Antonello-Qrazio, or the peasant head on the 
noble trunk, threw himself in a lazy and 
distinguished way on the cushions, and 
haughtily commanded Orado-Antonello to 
row back* The latter was compelled to obey, 
for his plebeian arms alone could ply the oars 
and guide the helm — but he gnashed his 
teeth, and swore to take dreadful vengeance 
for this insult ; and so we rowed back — the 
grandee with the coarse red gondolier's cap 
sitting on the cushions, and ^ughing to 
scorn the proud peasant in the bows with his 
feathered hat and faultlessly dainty wig. 

"We landed at xhv piazzelia. Negligently 
I drew out the purse whii:h I found in my 
new clothes, and tossed the rower a coin. 

*' f Give me back my money I ' he cried; 
' give me my rings, my watch > my head ! ' 

" 'Silence, wretched slave/ I cried ; barest 
thou lay hands on my inviolate person? Help, 
help, against this crack-brained gondolier ! ' 

ul Help, help/ he exclaimed, * against this 
insolent boatman ! " 

"A crowd had by this time assembled, some 
taking my part and some his. The Doge, who 
wasU PitERiJJnf 'ifeM£^l'afkNand down the 

VqL iv,— 44, 




colonnade of his palace, heard the scandal, 
and ordered us to be placed in the inner 
dungeon of the Inquisition, and brought up 
for trial the same evening. 

"The Public Prosecutor accused us, not 
only of the black art itself, but of being dis- 
turbers of the public peace and conspirators 
against the safety of the State, ' What have 
we come to/ he de- 
claimed, * when our 
sc nato rs a n d pa t ri cia n s 
begin to change their 
heads as often as their 
wigs ? To lose the 
head is human. The 
history of the illus- 
trious Republic is not 
poor in examples of 
senators and generals, 
aye, and Doges too, 
who have suffered this 
misfortune — but an 
exchange of heads, 
that is, indeed, an 
unparalleled proceed- 
ing ! What endless 
upheavals of the Con- 
stitution may not be 
expected when noble 
and common blood 
begins to mingb in 

the same body ? 
What endless 
confusion of 
aristocratic and 
democratic prin- 
ciples in the 
same man ! A 
s hor ts ighted 
leniency in this 
matter ma y 
mean the dis- 
ruption of the 
State, the crum- 
bling into atoms 
of the Republic. 
I decree there- 
fore the death 
by beheadal of both ths criminals." 

" The Secretary of the Inquisition informed 
us of our doom ; at midnight we were to 
pay the penalty of the little doctor's mistake. 
Ah, what mortal has ever met a fate like 
ours ? Who is there can boast of being, 
like us, beheaded twice within the space of 
four-and-twenty hours ? 

"The keeper of the prison was, as it 
happened, an old friend of mine, and a 
second cousin. The unspeakable pickle I 
was in moved him even to tears, and he 
tried to com Tort me by the assurance that 
the pain of beheadal was nothing to speak 
of — a short electric shock — a tickling sensa- 
tion made piquant with a dash of pain— that 
was all ! But I shook my head sadly, and 
wept. Of all this I already knew somewhat 
more than he c^uld tell me. Suddenly a 
glorious thought struck 
me. After our miraculous 
cure, as I now remem- 
bered, my fingers, guided 
either by the directing 
brain of Orazio or by the 

by LiOOgK 

ial tram 




old instinct of Antonello, had picked up the 
remnants of the Perlimpimpino powder left 
by the doctor. ' Cousin ! ' I now exclaimed, 
i you can save me yet ; you can save the 
Count ! Hasten to his cell, remind him of 
the remains of the powder in his pocket, and 
learn from him the way to use it, and all will 
yet be well ! ' He shook his head incredu- 
lously, pressed my hand, and went. 

" Sadly passed the minutes away. The 
horrid doubt oppressed me, whether the 
powder would exercise its wondrous efficacy 
in the absence of the doctor ; whether the 
mystic sentences he spoke over it had not 
everything to do with its power ; whether the 
gaoler could exercise the necessary quickness 
and accuracy in its use. The lamp that 
half lit up my low vault burnt darkly and 
sadly, as if impatiently waiting my departure, 
so that it, too, might go to sleep. In despair 
I threw myself on the marble bench and 
shut my eyes, but the glitter of the dreadful 
axe shone through my fast-closed eyelids. 
Then a knock at the door sounded in my 
ears, and the words : i Wake up, Antonello, 
the priest is waiting ; take thy beheading, 
cousin, and afterwards thou mayest sleep till 
the trump of doom ! ' 

" The memory of what followed — of con- 
fession and absolution, of the executioner's 
block — has completely vanished from my 
brain. I only know that I sneezed violently, 
opened my eyes, and found myself once more 
in my usual dress, lying at the foot of the 
column under the shadow of the holy Teodoro; 
that I saw standing at my feet the patrician 
Orazio Memmo,and that I heard him calling : 
4 Hi, wake up, Antonello ! A league's row 
on the canal ! ' 

" * Excellenza ! ' I cried, * and you will go 
again to the enchanted garden of Propori- 
nazzo ? And we are both really alive and 

free, and the confusion with our heads is now 
happily disposed of?' 

" He measured me with his eye, shook his 
head as if at a loss to understand me, and 
asked if I was still dreaming, or if the cheap 
Vinccntin wine was muddling my brain. 
Dejected and silent I loosed the chain and 
rowed the nobleman up and down. No trace 
of any strange red and silver gondola could be 
seen, far or near. Count Orazio dozed away the 
hour on the water with a composure that 
seemed inexplicable to me. When we landed, 
I implored him at least to tell me whether 
we had no further consequences to fear on 
the part of the Tribunal ; whether he had 
not saved a pinch or two of the Perlim- 
pimpino powder for future contingencies. 
But he persisted in pretending surprise and 
called me a fool ; and I then concluded that a 
stony silence had been imposed on him by the 
Inquisition, and that he pretended ignorance 
with design. 

"Since that day I have not breathed a 
word of the incident to any human being; 
and you, my children, are the first to 
whom, under the seal of an oath, I 
entrust it. Had I not, since that day, 
suffered from a peculiar twitching sensation 
in the neck, at the place where the double 
wound was made — especially when the 
weather changes— I might have taken the 
whole for a dreadful dream. As it is, how- 
ever, the plain facts remain, burned in, in 
vivid colours, on my brain. " 

With these words my father closed his 
story, the telling of which had used up all his 
remaining strength. We sent at once for the 
priest of San Moise. He came with the 
holy Viaticum, and anointed the forehead of 
my father, who soon after breathed out his 
last sigh. Peace be with the soul of the 
honest man ! 




Original from 

A Visit to the Eddystone Lighthouse. 

By F. O. Kitton. 

F all lighthouses that surround 
our coast the most familiar is 
the nobly structure which 
proudly rears its head above 
the dangerous Eddystone rock. 
The story of that interesting 
building and its predecessors on this exten- 
sive reef is enhanced by a touch of romance 
which makes it worth the telling, and is 
deserving of record if only as an illustration of 
man's perseverance, and of his determination 
to overcome almost insuperable difficulties. 
Everyone knows that the present lighthouse 
was preceded by those to which 1 sh^ll briefly 
allude, but it is not common knowledge that 
the earliest intimation (to be found in con- 
temporary records) of 
a lighthouse on the 
Eddystone dates back 
as far as 1664, when 
(says a w r riter in the 
Morning /W)the pro- 
posal was made by Sir 
John Coryton and 
Henry Drunker, but 
nothing further has 
transpired regarding 
the scheme. 

The first lighthouse 
was built by Henry 
Winstanley, an Essex 
gentleman, whose ec- 
centricities were com- 
bined with great me- 
chanical ingenuity, 
who began his difficult 
task in 1696, and com- 
pleted it four years 
later. It was a wooden 
structure of the most 
fantastic kind, en- 
trance to the various 
rooms being obtained 
by means of external 
ladders. Beneath the 
lantern (which was 
surmounted by a huge 
vane, supported by 
ornamental scroll 
work) was a dome or 
cupola resting on an 
open arcade with a 
gallery, and under the 
latter were the living 


and store rooms. This quaint design is pre- 
served in the form of a large silver model of 
contemporary workmanship, which once 
formed part of the well-known Morgan 
collection of family plate ; it was intended 
to serve as a table ornament, or for use as 
a salt-cellar and spice-box, and is curious as 
being probably the only accurate model in 
silver of a structure of any kind. 

Soon after Winstanlcy completed this light- 
house he discovered that it was not substantial 
enough to withstand violent storms and the 
fury of the waves, and he therefore altered it 
considerably, the second design being much 
more ornate in character ; the tower was 
partly circular and partly polygonal, was 

mainly constructed 
of wood (with Latin 
and English inscrip- 
tions on some of the 
panels), and had 
open galleries and 
numerous whimsi- 
cal projections, 
while an old engrav- 
ing indicates that 
candles were placed 
outside the lantern. 
It being intimated 
to the architect 



J .° ™ 






(one day during the progress of the alterations) 
that the lighthouse would certainly be over- 
set, he (feeling so well assured of its stability) 
replied that he should only wish to be there 
in the greatest storm that ever blew, in order 
to see its effect upon the structure. His wish 
was gratified, for a dreadful tempest raged in 
1703, while he and his workmen and light- 
keepers were in the building, which carried 
away the lighthouse and its inmates, and all 
perished in the sea, the only sign remain- 
ing being the larger irons whereby the 
work was fixed to the rock. It is very 
remarkable that at the same time this 
catastrophe happened the model of the light- 
house at Winst an ley's residence in Essex fell 
down and was broken to pieces- 
It being absolutely necessary, as navigation 
increased, that a guiding light should be 
maintained upon this reef so fraught with 
danger to mariners, it was decided to con- 
struct a second lighthouse, and in 1 706 
John Rudyerd (a common labourer's 
son, who rose to the position of a silk 
mercer on Ludgate Hill) commenced to 
build one of wood upon a stone and 
timber foundation the general design 
a cone-shaped column — being much 
more appropriate. 

Louis XIV, was then at war with 
England, and in addition to the natural 
difficulties with which the workmen 
engaged upon the building had to con- 
tend, was the constant apprehension of 
being taken prisoners by French priva- 
teers who infested the coast; indeed, 
some of the men 
employed by Win- 
stanley were thus 
carried off to 
France, but imme- 
diately released by 
order of the French 
King, because the 
work they were 
executing was one 
for universal good, 
his Majesty explain- 
ing that " he was at 
war with England, 
and not with 
humanity." Rud- 
yerd '5 lighthouse 
successfully resisted 
than forty years, but 


the elements 
T 755 !t 

for more 
m t 755 it was burned 
down, the fire originating in the lantern. In 
connection with this unfortunate disaster a 
strange incident is recorded and duly authenti- 
cated. During the conflagration one of the 

men, on looking upward to watch the effect of 
the water thrown upon the flames, received 
upon his person a copious shower of lead, some 
of which entered his throat \ but, curious to 
relate, he survived the painful experience 
many years, and when he died a solid piece 
of lead weighing over seven ounces was 
found in his body! 

With the third Eddystone lighthouse is 
associated the more familiar name of John 
Smeaton, who, in 1759, completed a tower 
entirely of stone, which was considered at 
the time as one of the wonders of the world. 
This famous engineers description of the 
building of his lighthouse (contained in a large 
folio volume, published in 1 791, and dedicated 
to the King) is most circumstantial, and with 
the aid of the illustrations the reader may 
easily comprehend the enormous difficulty of 
the undertaking. The form he adopted was 
that presented by the 
natural figure of the waist 
or bole of a large spreading 
oak, which suggested to his 
mind the shape a column of 
the greatest stability ought 
to assume in order to suc- 
cessfully resist the action 
of external violence The 
tower was built of moor- 
stone (the true granite), 
found in the neighbour- 
hood of Plymouth, and the 
first block was laid on a 
Sunday in June, 1757, the 
exact date being deeply in- 
cised in the stone 
itself; and after four 
years' labour upon 
the rock, hindered 
by innumerable ob- 
stacles and dangers, 
the lighthouse was 
satisfactorily com- 
pleted, without any 
loss of life or limb, 
or accident by 
which the wwk 
could be said to be 
materially retarded. 
Every stone was 
ingeniously dove- 
tailed to its neigh- 
bour, and so substantial was the whole 
structure that the most violent storms had 
no effect upon it, although the waves would 
frequently enwrap the tower like a sheet, 
rising at times to double its height, and totally 



tempest so severe that those who had ven- 
tured to predict the downfall of Smeaton 's 
tower were heard to say, when the storm 
ceased j that " if the Eddystone Lighthouse is 
now standing, it will stand to the Day of 

Smeaton himself, although conscious of 
the strength of his great work, was sometimes 
anxious for its safety, and often he might 
have been se^n in the early grey of the 
morning, standing on Plymouth Hoe, gazing 
with his telescope in the direction of the 
rock — his sole thought being of his light- 
house, Smeaton's tower would be marking 
the reef to-day but for the fact that the sea 
had gradually undermined the rock upon 
which it stood , to such an extent that the 
oscillation of the building became so alarming 
as to render it unsafe. 
It was accordingly aban- 
doned, and in 1877 it 
was decided to erect a 
new lighthouse, more 
commodious and comfort- 
able than the old one, the 
result being the present 
structure, designed by 
Mr. James (afterwards Sir 
James) N. Douglass, en- 
gineer-in-chief of the 
Trinity House- 
Before relinquishing the 
subject of Smeaton 's light- 
house it is desirable to 
explain that, after the 
completion of the new 
one, it was taken down 
to the level of the first 
room and re-erected on 
Plymouth Hoe, as a memorial to the 
great engineer, on the site formerly oc- 
cupied for about two centuries by the 
Trinity Landmark ; the lower port i cm still 
remaining intact on the rock, as a dis- 
tinguishing mark, an iron pole being fixed in 
its centre. The old tower is now a show- 
place, so that visitors can inspect the interior 
of the historic edifice, as well as some 
portraits and relics of its founder, including 
a copy of his fimous narrative, carefully 
preserved in a glass case. In the lantern 
hangs the original chandelier as used in 
1759- -two circular frames (a large one 
suspended beneath a smaller) carrying 
twenty-four wax candles of six to the pound 
— a method of illumination which, although 
decidedly primitive in these days, was a 
great improvement on the old system (fires 

smbaton's chandelier, 1759. 

shaded by horn or glass) that had hitherto 

The present Eddystone Lighthouse, opened 
in 1882, was completed in three-and-a-half 
years, and is founded en the actual body of 
the reef at a distance of forty yards from its 
predecessor. Sir James Douglass greatly 
improved upon Smea ton's design in adopting 
a cylindrical base instead of the curved shaft 
co mm end ng at the foundation — this base 
not only preventing the heavy seas from 
breaking upon the structure, but affording a 
convenient landing platform — a convenience 
much appreciated by the keepers. Opera- 
tions in connection with the Douglass 
lighthouse were begun in July, 1878, the men 
during the enrlv stage being compelled to 
work below the level of low water ; and about 
twelve months later the 
foundation stone was laid 
by the Duke of Edin- 
burgh, Master of the 
Trinity House, who, two 
years subsequently, also 
placed in position the top 
stone of the tower. The 
work (says Mr, E. Price 
Edwards, in his concisely- 
written volume on the 
subject) was executed 
more rapidly in propor- 
tion to dimensions than 
any rock lighthouse pre- 
viously undertaken, this 
owing chiefly to superior 
mechanical contrivances; 
and it is satisfactory to 
learn that no loss of life 
or limb resulted there- 
from, although a strange and nearly fatal 
accident happened to the son of Sir 
James Douglass, who, while superintending 
the demolition of the Smeaton tower, was 
standing at a height of 70ft. above the 
sea when a portion of the chain guys of the 
shears gave way, and, striking him, hurled 
him to the rocks below. AIL his colleagues 
thought he was killed, but at the critical 
moment a wave rose over the rock, and he fell 
into the water and was carried by the receding 
wave out of danger, A great deal of interesting 
information respecting the present lighthouse 
may be gathered from Mr, Price Edwards's 
little book, from whence we learn that the 
stones are of granite, dovetailed together, and 
up to a height of 25ft above high-water 
level the tower is solid, with the exception of 
a large water tanfe fletminto it. From 

blazing in open grates and; later, candles the sam^Uwri.^t^ 



130ft., that is, nearly double the height of 
Smeaton's tower. It contains nine compart- 
ments, as compared with four in Smeaton's, 
and all the rooms have domed ceilings, their 
height from floor to apex being 9ft gin,, 
and the diameter 14ft., with the exception of 
the two oil-room s, which are somewhat 

On learning that no journalist, intent on 
describing the Eddystone Lighthouse, had 
hitherto succeeded in landing on this most 
difficult rock (an achievement so frequently 
rendered impracticable by the violence of the 
waves beating upon it), my eagerness to 
attempt the feat was considerably emphasised 
It will be imagined that it is with feelings of 
suppressed excitement that, armed with a 
special " permit "from Trinity House> I find 
myself (on the morning of last Whit-Monday) 
at Plymouth Dock, with the relief party bound 
for the Eddystone. The day is delightfully 
fine, and all doubts raised by recent storms as 
to the possibility of landing are quickly sub- 
dued—for weather, be it observed, plays a very 
important part on these occasions- The 
st earn- tug Deerhound^ specially chartered for 
the relief, is in readiness, and our party in- 
cludes the principal light-keeper (Mr. G. \V\ 
Cooper), an assistant keeper (Mr, George 
Norton, who has been invalided), two skilled 
mechanics for lighthouse repairs, and three or 
four visitors who are curious to inspect 
the lonely sea-home for which we are 
bound. When stores are taken in and 
everybody is on board, the signal is given, and 
off we start in a 
southerly direction* 

Although the waves ^m^^m^^^B^^^m 
have not yet sub- 
sided after recent 
disturbance, there 
is every prospect of 
a successful voyage, 
and we feel exhil- 
arated by the fresh 
breeze and the 
beauty of the con- 
stantly changing 
scene. In passing 
the Breakwater 
Light we hail the 
keepers, who give 
us a parting cheer ; 
while further on our 
right we see Ram 
Head (the point of 

land nearest to the Eddystone), with the signal- 
station recently established by a telephone 
company for the purpose of signalling any 

vessels entering the port, or passing up or down 
the Channel Our trip will take about an 
hour and a half, but long before that time 
expires we endeavour to catch a glimpse 
of the lighthouse. 

Presently, " There she is ! " becomes the 
cry, as soon as the keen-sighted members of 
our party can discern its slim proportions on 
the distant horizon, six or seven miles away. 
A nearer approach enables us to perceive, 
close to the lantern, 
the flag that is always 
hoisted when relief 
is due and feasible. 
Nearer yet, and the 
keepers t he mse Ives 
are visible, eagerly 
preparing for our 
arrival. At a safe dis- 
tance from the reef 
the anchor is cast, 
and we, with our be- 
longings, are trans- 
ferred to a boat and 
rowed to within a few 
yards of the landing- 
stage. Hearty greet- 
ings pass between 
rock and boat as we 
close in, and 
while our stern 
rope and grap- 
pling hook are 
cast overboard, 
the keepers -on 

I ■.-.■!.■ i 

the " set-off 71 (as the landing-stage is generally 
called) dexterously throw a couple of lines to 

be ^Frff^frTF^Cffl^ the boat may 



be thus held in position while effecting the 

A strong rope, controlled by a winch, 
is then let down from a projecting crane 
half-way up the tower, the lower end being 
firmly held by one of the boatmen giving 
it a turn round a wooden pin at the 
stern. This satisfactorily accomplished we 
prepare to Land, and to a novice the process 
is somewhat exciting. The principal keeper 
leads the way, and this is his method of pro- 
cedure. He first grasps the rope 
tightly, then puts his foot in a 
loop attached thereto, and with a 
"Heave away!" the men at the 
winch steadily wind up the rope 
until the suspended figure is near 
enough for the man on the " set- 
off" to seize him and put him 
on his feet* Presently it is my 
turn to be hoisted, and with the 
boat tossing about it is difficult 
for a beginner to make a start; 
but I am soon in a position to 
realize the thrilling sensation of 
hanging on a rope in mid-air, 
jerking and swaying over the boil- 
ing surf, with the salt spray 
dashing around. However, it is 
quickly over, and we are all safely 
landed at last, with the exception 
of two visitors, whose courage 
gives way at the critical moment. 
From the "set-ofT' the entrance 
is approached by a ladder, formed 
by a series of gun metal rungs let 
into the stonework, and on gaining 
the summit of this perpendicular 
climb of 2 oft I watch the men 
landing the stores, and make a 
rough sketch of the operation, at 
the conclusion of which {after 
much shouting and gesticulation) 
those bound for the shore are 
slung back into the boat, anchor 
is raised, and the released keepers 
give vent to their joyous feelings 
by lustily singing the refrain of a certain 
familiar song from which, in this benighted 
spot, one might reasonably have hoped to 

After our recent exertions we make for the 
kitchen and enjoy a plain substantial meal, 
followed by a smoke and a chat ; then, 
escorted by Mr. Tom Cutting (third light- 
keeper), I make a detour of the building. 
Beginning at the entrance — the most con- 
spicuous objects are life-belts and buoys, 
coils of rope on the walls, fishing-rods, and a 

home-made lobster pot; under foot is the 
water- tank, capable of holding 3 3 5oo gallons ; 
the walls are 9ft. thick at this point, and 
the gun-metal doors weigh a ton, thus 
massively constructed in order to withstand 
the shock of heavy seas. 

Thence, by a flight of sixteen steep iron 
steps (a similar flight connects each room), 
we proceed to the next compartment, where, 
as well as in that above it, is kept the main- 
stay of the light. In these two oil-rooms 
the mineral oil is stored^ each of the huge 
cisterns being capable of containing 140 
gallons, a quantity which will not be much 
more than enough to last nine months. The 
second oil-room is also used for storing 
gun-cotton charges and detonators for working 
sound sign ah in foggy weather, and rockets 
for signalling purposes. 

In the next compartment — the winch-room 
- — are two doors (one directly over each land- 


ing-place) for receiving stores from the boat by 
means of a sliding crane working through a 
porthole over either door, as well as for landing 
and embarking in rough weather. Besides 
the winch, there are lockers for coal and 
paint. Room No. 5 — the store-room — con- 
tains the crane and a provision cupboard for 
each man — note the string of herrings hanging 
outside the window. 

Then comes ihe .itchen or living-room, 
where the small ^xrly of three cook and eat 
their ^^^T^^^Hi^^re moments 




— decidedly cosy and scrup "ausly clean, 
with a specially made cooking-range and 
every domestic convenience. Although the 
granite walls are exposed (as in every room), 
their bareness is relieved by shelves and a 
dresser, containing pots, pans and dishes ; 
while a bookcase filled with read- 
able volumes (supplied by the 
Trinity House, and frequently 
changed) adds to the general 
appearance of comfort On the 
hob stands a kettle of abnormal 
d imensions, 
and a window 
is converted 
for the nonce 
into a meat 
safe, the sus- 
pended legs 
of mutton kept 
fresh by ex- 
posure to the 
cool air, Here 
I am shown 
some interest- 
ing relics of 
the Smeaton 
viz,, a tea-can- 
ister (probably 
a century old, 
and still in use) 

and some tools 
of little utility. 

Still ascend- 
ing, we reach 
the low-light 
room, devoted 
mainly to an ap- 
paratus for giv- 
ing a white fixed 
subsidiary light, 
the rays from 
two powerful 
argand burners 
with reflectors 
being sent 
through the op- 
posite window 
at night, to mark 
some dangerous 
rocks known as 
the Hand Deeps 
about three and 
a half miles dis- 
tant. The medi- 
cine chest also 
finds a place 
here. The 
eighth compartment is the bedroom, having 
five berths (two above and three below) with 
cretonne curtains, and below are cupboards 
for clothes ; the two speaking-tubes fixed on 
the wall are connected with the lantern and 
low-light room respectively, so that the 
keeper on night duty 
can easily communicate 
with his sleeping mates 
should an accident 


™1flWfleim)F MICHIGAN 




happen and assistance be required. The 
room over the bedroom is called the 
watch or service room, and may be properly 

Stnvicr hooh 


regarded as the office of the establishment, 
for it contains official books and papers (in 
bookcases and on shelves), electric machines, 
galvanometers, and barometer, as well as spare 
burners and spare glass for lantern, lamp 
cylinders, and various diagrams on the walls; 
around the room, deeply incised in the course 
of the ceiling, is the text from Psal m cxxviL, 
adopted by Smeaton for his tower : " Except 
the Lord build the house they labour in vain 
that build it." Considerable space is here 
devoted to the two pressure pumps for supply- 
ing oil to the lamps by means of weighted 
rams, which, being first raised by a pumping 
lever, descend gradually into the oil, forcing 
it up the pipes into the lamps. The 
chief work performed in the service room 
is at night, when the light is going and a 
keeper is on duty. 

Surmounting the last flight of stairs we 
enter the most interesting compartment of 
all, namely, the lantern. It is 16ft. high, 
14ft. in diameter, and cylindrical in form. 
The framings are made of steel, covered ex- 
ternally with gun-metal, and there is a very 
careful arrangement for thorough ventilation, 
having regard to the gTeat heat thrown off by 
the lamps. But the lighting apparatus is 
clearly the most important feature, the present 
system being the outcome or many costly 
experiments in optical science. The special 
kind of lamp in use is known as a Douglass 
improved six-wick burner, that is> one having 
six tubes of wick of varying sizes, the larger 
encircling the smaller, which, when burning, 
produce a solid flame equal to the intensity of 
722 standard sperm candles. Two such 
burners are fitted, one above the other, within 
the revolving drums (now to be described), 
so that in bad weather flashes of enormous 
intensity are sent forth, the combined illu- 
minating power being equivalent to a quarter 
of a million candles, or about six thousand 

Original from 



times that of the original candle light of 
Smeaton's time ! 

The glass apparatus, by which the effect of 
each burner is augmented and economized, 
consists of two twelve-sided drums, each 
6ft. in height, and each side or panel of 
which is formed by a central lens or bull's- 
eye, and surrounded by concentric rings 
of larger bull's-eyes, so that the same effect 
is obtained as 

though a por- j : 

tioti of one 
huge lens were 
employed* The 
two bull's-eyes 
of adjoining 
panels (as Mr, 
Price Edwards 
clearly ex- 
plains) are 
brought close 
together, much 
resembling two 
eyes squinting; 
and on the ro- 
tation of the 
drums, with the 
inside central 
light burning, 
each bull's-eye 
and its sur- 
rounding rings 
carry round a 
beam of light, 
which becomes 
visible to the 
outside ob- 
server as soon 
as the focus of 
the bull's-eye 
falls upon him. 
A very short 
interval occurs 
between the 
flash of the 
first bull's-eye 
and that of 

the second, and after two such flashes 
nearly half a minute elapses before 
another pair of squinting eyes conies 
round and discharges the two flashes ; and 
thus is obtained the distinctive light of the 
Eddy st one. The two drums are super- 
imposed, with a lamp in each, so that, in 
f°ggy weather, when both act together, a 
double lighting power is procurable, During 
the day crimson curtains are suspended 
inside the lantern, to match the colour of 

the paint outside, when the whole exterior of 
the lantern appears red, to serve a-; a day- 
mark for mariners. 

It is one of the duties cf the keeper on 
watch to record on a printed form, night 
by night, particulars as to the state of 
the lamps, height of flame, temperature, 
climatic conditions, etc., etc., such reports 
being forwarded to the Trinity House every 

month. An 
iron door in 
the lower part 
of the lantern 
with the out- 
side gallery of 
the tower, and 
from this 
breezy position 
an extensive 
view is ob- 
tained, the 
D e vonshire 
coast -line be- 
ing faintly dis- 
cernible, Dur- 
ing holiday 
time there are 
cheap excur- 
sions from Ply- 
mouth to the 
lighthouse by 
large steamers t 
and one of 
them is now 
nearing us, 
crowded in 
every part with 
its living 
freight When 
it comes within 
a hundred 
yards of the 
rock, we on the 
gallery signal 
to it by drop- 



ping the clap- 
per of one of 
the two large fog-bells, which is responded to by 
a vigorous waving of handkerchiefs on deck. 
The bells just referred to (which hang under 
either side of the gallery) were used in foggy 
weather until last October, when the more 
effectual method of exploding small charges 
of gun-cotton by electricity was substituted. 
It so happens that during my visit a sea- 
fog suddenly comes on, and this signalling 
apparatus is brought into action, there 

"MMflreiter minu,Hi - The 



jib of the crane (placed vertically outside the 
lantern) is first lowered, detonators are 
securely fixed to the charges and connected 
with the battery, and then placed at either 
end of the semi-circular liar at the top of the 
jib. The latter is then raised and the cur- 
rent set in motion, when an explo- 
sion ensues which can sometimes 
be heard eighteen miles away. The 
open door in my sketch should 
really be closed, but my object in 
so representing it is to show the 
working of the battery at the 
moment of connecting the current 

The liability of such an isolated 
object as the tower being struck 
by lightning is ingeniously provided 
against by connecting all the inetal- 
work with copper conductors, and 
ultimately fixing a rod down the 
tower to the rock below water, 
Should the lightning strike any 
portion of the metallic system it 
will probably go through the whole, 
and discharge itself harmlessly into 
the sea* As further precautions 
against fire, the floors are of stone 
covered with slate ; all doors and 
window frames and sashes, and all 
external doors and shutters are of 
JTon or gun-metal, so that the build- 
ing is completely fireproof. 

Now let me describe the duties 
of the light-keepers and their mode 
of life in this solitary abode, so far 
removed from 
busy humanity. 
To this light- 
house, as to all 
other rock sta- 
tions on the coast, 
four keepers are 
attached, the 
principal (G + W. 
Cooper)and three 
assistants (T, 
Cutting, G. Nor- 
ton, and W. 
Davies); but 
three only are on 
duty at one time. 
Each keeper has three months on the rock, 
followed by a month ashore, a much longer 
period in each case than was customary w hen 
the lighthouse was first opened. 

If the authorities could be persuaded to 
reduce such a long spell of duty by one-third, 
thus making it two months — a consummation 
devoutly desired by the men — it would be a 

generous act, and the kind consideration 
would be keenly appreciated, for it seems 
that such a monotonous round of duties, 
carried on day by day so far away from their 
fellow men, invariably induces, after the first 
month, acute depression of spirits, the attack 

lasting from 
twelve to twenty 
hours, and> work 
being tempor- 
arily impossible, 
the sufferer re- 
mains in his berth 
until the sickness 
moderates, his 
mates kindly ful- 
filling his duties 
Every month 
(weather permit- 
ting) a relieving 
vessel goes out to 
the lighthouse, 
taking with her 
the man w r ho has 
had his month 
ashore, and re* 
turning with the 
keeper who has 
completed his 
three months ; 
but it frequently 
happens that the 
weather upsets 
when communi- 
cation by signals 
alone can be 
effected. In fine 
weather each man 
duty four 
and eight 
off, but 
the atmo- 

is on 



there is double 
duty to perform, 
two men being 
on watch at the 
same time. 
In the day-time 
there is work of another kind to be done. 
Besides keeping in order the lighting appa- 
ratus and polishing metal-work throughout 
the building, the men take it in turns to 
carry out domestic arrangements, such as 
scrubbing floors ; v nd tables, for the whole 
place is kept absolutely free from dirt. The 

^i^^aicfe^? 15 must ' of 




course, be attended to, and every Saturday 
night the chef appointed for the week con- 
cocts a plain but wholesome plum-pudding, 
which has become a regular institution. 
Light-keepers, nowadays, are not reduced to 
the necessity of eating the candies^ as they 
occasionally were in Smeaton's time, for a 
large supply of tinned meats and biscuits, 
provided by the Trinity House, is always 
kept ready for emergencies, 

At the hour of dusk the lamp is lighted. 

column, running centrally through the whole 
length of the lighthouse, was constructed 
to hold both weight and chain for working 
the machinery which rotates the drums. Now, 
as the beams of light flash out seaward, I leave 
our friend to his solitary task for a chat with 
his mates in the snug kitchen below. 

I find the light-keepers quiet and intelligent, 
having a full sense of their responsibility, 
although they do not take kindly to their 


so I accompany the keeper (who now begins 
his w + atch) into the interior of the glass drum, 
and observe how, with a spring grip, he 
raises the lamp-chimney and ignites the wicks; 
but, being still daylight, the illumination is not 
brilliant, although it increases in brightness 
as night comes on. The ne : proceeding is to 
wind up the gear which rotates the drums, 
and as the weight to be lifted is equal to a 
ton, and the operation lasts about an hour, it 
is somewhat fatiguing. The weight is con- 
tained in that portion of the column situated 
in the two lower rooms, which hollow iron 

Even here, however, they are able to enjoy 
a modicum of pleasure, for fishing is prac- 
ticable all the year round — in summer from 
the "set-off," with rod and line, in winter 
from the lantern gallery, because then the 
fish, being shy, keep away from the rocks 
and can only be caught by means nt a 
long line with a bladder attached, which 
is blown by the wind in the direction 
required, the fish thus captured including 
bass, pollock, bream, horse mackerel, and 
congers. The bladder-line is also used for 
transferring letters to pilot-boats, when they 




come sufficiently near the rocks, and the 
presence of these boats is especially 
welcome in bad weather, as the only means 
of communication with the shore. During 
the season when birds migrate, the keeper 
who comes off duty at 
night often catches a 
number of them about 
the lantern, being 
attracted by the glare. 
At midnight last 
Christmas Eve, no 

reef, the huge waves sometimes leaping up 
the tower to break with great force under the 
lantern gallery. It was a terrible experience, 
ever to be remembered by the light-keepers, 
when, on the night of the blizzard in March, 
1891, the lantern was partly em- 
bedded in snow, entirely obscuring 
the light on one side, and effec- 
tually blocking up the exit. The 
storm was of such severity that 
nothing could be done to clear 
away the obstruction till the next 
morning, when the tempest had 

At midnight I turn into one of 
the berths, but my attempt to sleep 
begins as a failure, owing princi- 
pally to the periodical clanking of 
the winding gear, and partly, no 
doubt, to the novelty of the situa- 


fewer than three hundred lapwings, 
with a few larks, thrushes, and 
plovers, were secured in the course 
of a few* hours. In winter months 
the men are fond of reading; but 
cards, draughts, bagatelle, and such 
hobbies as fretwork and picture-frame 
making offer superior attractions. 

On a fine summer's day it is 
delightfully quiet in the lantern, the 
gentle lashing of the waves and sub- 
dued humming of the wind being 
the only sounds that reach the ear. 
But there are times, as the fury of 
the tempest beats upon the massive 
tower and the blinding flash of 
lightning permeates every apartment, when 
the men in their solitude cannot fail to 
be impressed by the mighty power and 
majesty of Nature's forces ; J tis then that 
the roaring sea rises mountains high, dashing 
with thundering roar upon the surrounding 

\ P{: : 

AFTtfc THE BLtii^RD* 

tion ; 

on the second night, however, I am 
successful Although busy during 
my stay with sketching and observations, 
I soon begin to feel that life in a light- 
house has ,i^j r disad vantages, not the least 

of th m^h%<rarai of extreme 



loneliness and isolation* After breakfast 
on the third day of my visit it is con- 
sidered desirable to keep a look-out for a 
vessel that can take me ashore, but it is not 
until evening that we are able to attract the 
attention of some fishermen and make them 
understand what is required of them. The 
reply comes that they will send the row-boat 
to the rock at 10 o'clock, so we spend the 
interval in chatting and a game of whist. 
Accordingly, at the appointed hour, the boat 
awaits me, and, with a hearty farewell and a 
cheerful "good-bye f ' from all, I drop into the 
boat and am taken on board the fishing-craftj 
when, somewhat to my chagrin, I learn that 
we must wait about three hours for the turn 
of the tide. While rocking about on the waves 

I can admire the stately and dignified tower 
of the Eddystone pointing defiantly upward, 
and am fascinated by the effect of the bright 
rays from the lantern flashing across the sky, 
the beauty of the scene being enhanced by the 
light of the silvery moon reflected in the sea. 
At lastj with a favourable tide and a fair 
wind, we set sail in the early morn for 
Plymouth, Now t the day is dawning, and T as 
we proceed, the lighthouse gradually becomes 
invisible, but the occulting light, glowing like 
a star of exceptional brilliancy, may be seen 
long after the tower itself is lost to view. 

Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same 

Year after year, through all the si lent night, 

Burns on for evermore that cuenchless flame, 
Shines on that inextinguishable light ! 


by Google 

Original from 

At Eagles Gorge, 

By E. M, Hewitt. 

AS HA was painfully ugly. The 
Moon and Saturn were her 
dominating astrological influ- 
ences, and the planet of fatality 
had written all his signatures 
upon her. She was tall, thin, 
high-shouldered, and pale ; her arms were 
long and bony, her movements slow and 
awkward. She had none of the roundness or 
grace of youth, and her sallow skin, rusty 
black hair, and hollow cheeks seemed like 
those of a woman prematurely old. Her 
dark, strangely lambent eyes, shaded by 
heavy brows that met above her thin nose, 
failed to inspire terror only because they 
were infinitely sad Her lips rarely smiled, 
but their want of fulness betokened self- 
repression and strength of will rather than 
coldness or egotism. 
Silent and sensi- 
tive, the girl ap- 
peared weighed 
down by the con- 
sciousness of her 
entire lack of 
beauty. She walked 
listlessly, with down- 
cast eyes, and she 
loved solitude. 

people, afraid to 
scorn her ugly face, 
sometimes spoke of 
her as a witch : but 
Kasha had a soul 
so beautiful that it 
attached to her all 
things innocent and 
sweet- Love of the 
beautiful was a pas- 
sion with her, and 

this was the secret of the power which drew 
to her all that might otherwise have been 
repelled by her unlovely face. She seemed 
to possess a subtle influence that made the 
flowers hasten to bud and blossom under 
her hand, so that her garden in the wild 
mountain pass was a marvel of colour from 
early spring to late autumn. 

Dogs would show an almost human joy at 
the sound of her voice, and little children 
would leave their mothers' skirts to run to 
her. All women who were 


sad or suffer- 

ing hailed her coming with delight ; but 
no one could have told you exactly why 
they loved her, for they were wiser than they 
themselves knew. They discerned the true 
Nasha behind the mask of her ugliness— 
that mean outer garb which was but the 
matrix that contained the gem. 

The real woman was the pure, heroic soul, 
the faithful, mysterious, invisible being who 

walked the moun- 
tains, who pondered 
in loneliness, who 
was thrilled by the 
music of Nature's 
thousand voices 
and the breath % of 
Nature's thousand 
perfumes. It was 
for a glimpse of 
this beneficent mys- 
tery that the chil- 
dren clung to her 
gown , the sorrowful 
women sought her, 
and the dumb crea- 
tures were glad in 
her presence ; and 
but for this com- 
radeship Nasha's must indeed 
have been a sorry life. Home, to 
her, meant simply the grim, grey 
building, wedged between great 
rocks, and called the Eagle's 
Gorge. Her only ostensible 
friends were Getha, the old 
woman who waited upon her, 
and LyoflF, her Russian wolf- 
hound. The great complex world 
was only accessible to her through 
the crowded bookshelves of 
the library, in the blue-ceil inged 
chapel, with its tawdry altar and its shabby 
prie-dieuy and in the mountains round her 
home. The castle belonged to Nasha, not 
because the mother, who left it her, bore 
her any special affection, but because the 
articles of the loveless marriage from which 
Nasha sprang stipulated that the little 
estate in the mountains should descend to 
female children, while the husband, out of 
his own resources, should provide for his 
sons. As it happened, one daughter and 
one son weiSfl^rwilfraffSpring of the union, 



and they became orphans when the boy was 
ten and the girl five years old. Nasha had, 
since the death of her parents, remained for 
nine months out of every year alone at the 
castle, her brother's life being led elsewhere. 

Winter at Eagle's Gorge was a time of 
siege, against which provisions were laid in 
and logs stored up. The kennel was brought 
indoors, and Nasha, Getha, and Lyoff would 
sit around the fire, listening to the storms 
howling through the pass, conscious that 
the pure, refulgent snow was piling itself up 
around their fastness, drifting high against 
doors and windows, filling every cranny with 
its gentle flakes, and clothing the ravines in 
delicate splendour. With the spring came 
Volmer, who was not always as welcome to 
Nasha as the soft days that brought him. 
But she remembered he was her only brother, 
the head of her house, and she gave him the 
best greeting in her power, recollecting his 
favourite dishes, his tastes, and even his 
whims. He made but a poor return for her 
generous hospitality, lounging about the 
rooms, grumbling at their shabby appoint- 
ments, and sneering at the primitive customs 
of the household at Eagle's Gorge. 

It was not astonishing he should hate it ; 
the contrast it presented to Paris, his usual 
dwelling-place, was so great. The brother 
and sister had no interests or sympathies in 
common; nothing, in fact, but their name 
united them. A beautiful woman might 
have been of use to the worldling Volmer ; 
she might have given a reflected brilliancy 
to his career; she might even have lured 
gold into his pockets ; but Nasha was worse 
than useless, and Volmer consequently, con- 
sidering himself aggrieved, never looked at 
her without cursing his bad luck. Nasha, 
whose tranquillity concealed her painful 
thoughts, realized with pangs of a half- 
passionate despair the effect of her ugliness 
upon her fate. She, whose existence lay 
in such a sombre groove, dreamed often of 
the life that might have been. She had not 
bored over the library treasures in vain ; 
from them she knew something of the world 
beyond her mountains, and she learned to 
believe that in the whole wide range of 
human life there is no magic like a woman's 

Beauty could procure all the hearth des'res 
— love, gold, pomp, power, the homage of 
genius, the devotion of kings — but the woman 
without beauty was passed by or frowned 
upon ; men did not want her ; women held 
her in contempt Nasha thought of these 
things with poor attempts at self-consolation, 

Digitized by L^OOglC 

but she seldom succeeded in even soothing 
her restless spirit; the aching would not be 
cured ; the old longing would reassert its 
protest against Fate, but the futile wishes 
which sprang from it were never put into 

Few guests came to the castle, as it lay far 
out of the beaten track, and Volmer always 
seemed to leave the memory of his Paris life 
behind him when he crossed its threshold. 
Nasha had never even heard the name of 
any of his friends. She was not curious; 
Paris and her brother's life were mere 
shadows to her. She knew enough of 
Volmer's character to be sure that, excepting 
while he was at Eagle's Gorge, she had no 
place in his thoughts. She kept on her way 
uncomplainingly, incuriously, giving him a 
gracious, if not very hearty, welcome when 
he appeared, and speeding his departure 
without regrets ; but at last Volmer made his 
coming eventful. 

One evening, as they sat at supper, he 
flung a portrait across the table to her, as 
though to challenge an opinion. Nasha 
looked long at it and returned it without a 

"What do you think cf him?" asked 

" He is very handsome." 

"He is. All the women in Paris are mad 
over him." 

Nasha made no response. 

" You are not curious ?" exclaimed Volmer, 
interrogatively. " Why don't you ask ques- 
tions ? " 

" As you say, I am not curious. There is 
nothing I want to know. It is late — I am 
tired " She moved towards the door. 

" Nasha ! " said her brother. 


" Come here." 

"What is it?" 

" Will you marry this man ? " 

" You have never made sport of me before, 
Volmer," she replied, glancing at his 
animated face, and swiftly dropping her eyes. 

"I say, will you have this man for a 

" You are mad ! Let me go. He is a king 
among men. He must marry a beautiful 

" He shall marry you." 

" Volmer, be silent ! " 

"He is coming here," said Volmer, sar- 

" I will not see him." 

" But he shall marry you ! " 

" Not with his eyes open." 

~_- rTCTI rT«a r T I Oh n 


Vol. iv.— 46. 



" Probably not." 

" I thought you were merciful enough not 
to taunt me," said the girl, with an accent of 
bitter pain in her voice. 

she resolutely turned 
a husband ; of a 


" I am not taunting you, I am in earnest 
Wait. This time next year you will thank 
me as the best of brothers for the boon I am 
giving you." • 

" I do not understand. I have no wish 
to understand/' said Nasha, almost passion- 
ately. "This only will I say, that while I 
am mistress of Eagle's Gorge, no friend of 
yours shall cross its threshold ! n 

She controlled all further expression of 
feeling and walked away, leaving Volmer 
laughing. The next day he went back to 
Paris, and life at the sombre castle fell again 
into its quiet routine. But on the eve of 
his departure there had swept over Nasha's 
existence a great wave of excitement, which, 
all unawares to her, was to prevent her 
world ever looking the same again. She 
tried to live in her round of duties, and to 
banish the troops of thoughts that would 
invade her mind ; she sought to put down 
the passionate longings that rose and 


swelled in her breast 
from sudden visions of 
sweet, helpless, thankless thing that should 
lie in her arms and nestle to her breast ; of 
glad-faced, bright-haired 
children who should call 
her mother, and whose 
young voices should 
make music of the echoes 
around Eagle's Gorge. 
She strove to stifle the 
overpowering heart-hun- 
ger of her awakened 
womanhood, to drown it 
in bitter draughts of 
recollection and of reali- 
zation of the actual, but 
she strove in vain. Her 
day-dreams became more 
frequent, longer, and ever 
more fascinating, The 
vague Prince of her 
childish and girlish 
imaginings irrevocably as- 
sumed the likeness of a 
living man the man of 
Volmer's scheme. There 
were no mirrors in the 
inhabited part of Nasha's 
home ; they had all been 
banished to the disused 
room which was her 
mother's bridal chamber, 
where the telltale faces 
were turned to the wall, 
and their backs whitened 
with the dust of years. 
It was thought better for the young mistress 
of Eagle's Gorge to be spared their painful 
testimony to her ugliness ; but she knew 
their resting-place as well as she knew the 
reason of their withdrawal, and now that the 
strange and awful longing for the ** life of 
which her nerves were scant" had come 
upon her in all its force, she remembered the 
heart-shaped mirror framed in silver, which 
had reflected her mothers sad eyes t and she 
was impelled, in her agony of longing, to 
mount to the tower-room and consult its 
truthful face. 

" Am I indeed so very ugly ? n groaned 
the girl, as, trembling, she lifted the heavy 
glass. And the cold, smooth surface seemed 
to mock her with the answer : — 
"You know it!" 

She carried the thing to her own room, 
where she polished the delicate silver so that 
it grew beautiful again, and she locked it 
away, for fear of CethaVi sharp eyes ? among 




her mother's yellowing laces. Many times a 
day would she ask it the same question, till 
the mirror^ like a sentient thing, seemed to 
sympathize with her desire, and gave her back 
the strange reply : — 

" Love is a great beautifier ! " 

After that Nasha never consulted the 
mirror again ; it had pained and tormented 
her more even than her brother. 

The summer wore away, and winter 
dragged through its slow months to 
February, which brought a reminder of 
Volmer 's return. Never had the thought 
of his presence been more unwelcome. His 
letters, which had grown more frequent 
than usual since his last visit, were filled 
with hints that frightened Nasha, and 
whispers had also reached her concerning 
the nature of fjs life in Paris. Ruin 
seemed the 
doom of all the 
men whose 
friendship he 
acquired. More 
than one noble 
name had been 
dragged^ through 
htm, in the mire; 
more than one 
princely fortune 
had been gam- 
bled into his 
hands — to leave 
them again 
quickly. His in- 
solent triumphs 
were beginning 
to be ascribed 
to no common 
means. Men 
sometimes spoke 
of him on the 
boulevards and 
in the cafe as in 

league with the devil, as a votary of the black 
art, as an accomplished sorcerer. These thi ngs 
Came to his sister's ears, and a sinister 
warning, personal to herself, seemed to 
underlie them. 

The date Volmer fixed for his return was 
earlier this spring than Nasha had ever 
known it to be. He also spoke of a pro- 
longed stay, and hinted at a service Nasha 
was to render him. Partly because of this, 
and partly because of a presentiment of evil, 
the girl was less willing than ever to welcome 
him to her house. He was to reach Eagle's 
Gorge about sunset, and Nasha went out on 
the terrace with Lyoff to watch for the car- 

riage, not because she was eager for its 
advent, but to master herself in the realiza- 
tion of Volmer's approach, in order that 
when he met her he should detect no trace 
of fear or suspicion in her face or voice. 
She saw the carriage at last, a speck on the 
white road below, and she sat down on a 
ledge of rock to watch its tedious upward 
journey. While she sat there pondering, 
more than half repining and quite excited, 
the conviction seized her that Volmer was 
not alone, and that the companion he was 
bringing to the castle would be, somehow, 
the victim of his reckless egotism. 

By-and-by the wolfhound growled. It 
was his welcome to the travellers, whose 
steps, as they mounted the last part of the 
ascent on foot, now sounded on his quick 
ears. Volmer came first upon the terrace 

He was a bold- 
looking man, 
with somewhat 
shifty eyes and a 
charming smile, 
beneath which a 
keen observer 
might have de- 
tected the possi- 
bility of relent- 
less cruelty. 
After him came 
the impersona- 
t i o n of all 
Nasha 's ideals — 
alas ! alas 1 the 
original of the 
portrait she had 
looked on once 
and not forgot- 
ten. It had not 
lied ; he was 
supremely hand* 
some, he was 
beautiful* The 
portrait had said as much as that, but what it 
had not told, what no portrait could ever 
reveal, was the perfect blending of delicacy 
and manliness in the smooth, fair skin, the 
dimpled chin, the sensitive nostrils, the 
laughing brown eyes, and the throat like a 
column of ivory, upon which Nasha's gaze 
was fastened. The man's splendid propor- 
tions, combining strength with the utmost 
elegance, forbade the insinuation that his 
beauty was too feminine in its refinement, 
and he stood before his friend's sister an all 
but perfect type of masculine humanity. 

The shame of her own dearth of attractions 
rushed upon Nasha in the presence of so 



35 6 


much wealthj and she crimsoned with 
mingled sadness and resentment. Then a 
bitter pain filled her heart, and she felt she 
could not forgive her brother this moment 
of torture. He was speaking, but she did 
not hear his words. He presented her to 
the st ranger j reversing the rightful order of 
the ceremony, but in her suffering she did 
not note the slight. Her hand was cold as 
death when she laid it in the stranger's, but 
then there came a surprise which sent the 
blood coursing quickly through her veins. 
She dared to look into his face, but she vainly 
sought the expression of pity or scorn which 
she expected to see there. She could almost 
have thought he found her beautiful, so 
earnestly were his brown eyes fixed upon her, 
so entirely did they seem to appeal to that 
inner self which she felt to be independent of 
the ugly envelope enshrining it. 

Perhaps her costume pleased him also, for 
she perceived his glance travel over its details, 
and a bright smile light up his expressive 
features. She was wearing her usual dress, 
that of the peasants of the district; a laced 
scarlet bodice over a white chemisette, a 
short black skirt, strong shoes, and her hair 
plaited with ribbons. Her appearance seemed 
to fascinate the stranger, and his pleasure in 
it, though entirely well bred, was very mani- 

■ Hl.K A Ml. A 

KA&CE .jj££,UKlf 1U /^f'Yl ^ P ln B ' ' 

fest ; but Nasha rapidly grew uneasy under 
the novel sense of receiving admiration, 
She was almost terrified by so complete a 
reversal of her previous experience, and she 
thankfully responded to old Get ha. who, 
calling to her from the castle, enabled her to 
escape from the surprising presence of her 
brother's guest 

No preparations had been made for com- 
pany, and the accommodation at Eagle's 
Gorge was of a scanty description ; but the 
hostess and her old adherent did the best 
their ingenuity suggested, and in spite of all 
their visitor expressed himself more than 
content. When Nasha spoke of the dulness 
of life at the rock-bound castle, he laughed ; 
and when the brother and sister wondered 
how he could endure its monotony, he looked 
at Kasha and declared that he had never 
known happiness before. The significance 
of his tone, and his persistent seeking of her 
society, filled his hostess with a w^eird dread 
which soon mastered all the passionate 
delight his presence kindled within her* She 
went one day to her brother, and said, with 
an effort to which she had braced herself : — 
14 This is witchcraft f I will have nothing 
to do with it." 

Yo Inter took her slender wrists into his 
strong hands, and forced her to look at him 
" Then you are the witch," 
he said, ignoring the latter half 
of her speech. " Nasha, when 
this man asks you to be his 

wife " 

11 When ? Yes ? " 
u He will ask you. Do not 
refuse him ; he loves you." ' 

u Are you not trying to carry 
a trick too far? " 

" And if it were a trick — 
would you find it difficult to 
forgive me? Would that be a 
great sin in your eyes which gave 
you the man you worship? No, 
do not struggle ; you must hear 
me out You will do me a ser- 
vice in marrying Ivo, and in 
return I give you 3 as I said 
before, his love." 

"You have bewitched him ! 
I will tell him the truth ! " 

u You may do as you please ; 
but I swear to you that if you 
go down on your knees and 
solemnly vow by your patron 
saint, he will not believe you — 
he will only believe what I 




" Then he only thinks as you command 
— you have made him believe me beautiful ! " 
cried the girl. 

"I see you already forgive me," said 
Volmer, quietly. 

" I cannot ! " she exclaimed. " Ah ! 
Volmer, let him go. Take him away again. 
Take him back to Paris. His life must not 
be ruined ! " 

"Wild horses would not drag him away 
from you," said Volmer, sardonically. " And 
you do not consider me at all. Unless you 
marry this man, Nasha, I am lost ! Marry 
him, and I promise to turn over a new leaf." 

"Is this the truth?" asked the girl, 
regarding him fixedly. He returned her 
gaze with an earnest look of his strange, 
inscrutable eyes, which seemed to her to 
dilate, and in some horrible manner to lay 
hold upon her. 

" Yes," said Volmer, and the monosyllable 
dropped into her consciousness like a plum- 
met breaking through weak, intervening 
barriers, and seemed to lie, a dead weight, 
in the bottom of her mind. Her heart was 
assailed by a great temptation, and she could 
not, try as she would, rally the forces of her 
intellect and her scruples against it. In her 
brother's eyes, which did not leave her face, 
she seemed to read all the marvellous trans- 
formation that might come over her existence. 
Ivo made, by some strange power, to see her 
as she longed to be, loving her as she yearned 
to be loved, and taking eagerly all the wealth 
of love which she had to give him ! 

She, the sad, lonely, hungry woman to 
whom Nature had been so cruel, could be 
his honoured, cherished wife, the mother of his 
children, the companion of his bright and of 
his cloudy days. She could have the right, 
as she knew she had within her the power, 
to entrance, to soothe, to sustain him ; to live 
for him as he would live for her, his twin 
soul, his needed half, and together they 
would grow into a perfect being. Nasha 
was a mystic; her heart's cravings had 
taught her some truths which are only re- 
vealed by the two great teachers, Pain and 
Joy. Pain had hitherto schooled her ; but 
now, in this supreme moment of temptation, 
she felt the presence of neither pain nor joy ; 
she was only conscious of a mighty power 
within her, responding to a mighty power 
outside of her, of an impetuous rush of her 
will to a decision, and she accepted the life 
which Fate, through her brother, proffered. 

She drew a long, quivering breath after 
those moments of tension, during which her 
heart had scarcely seemed to beat. 

"If he ever learns the truth he will kill 
you," she said quietly, as she turned away. 

"No," laughed Volmer, "he will kill 

Her courage did not fail There were 
moments, out of Ivo's presence, when con- 
science stirred within her. There were 
moments when, after the passionate delight 
in gazing at his beloved face with all the 
wild but secret worship of a soul ardent for 
self-sacrifice, a terrible fear dominated her, 
and conscience stabbed her cruelly. At 
such times she would fling herself on her 
knees before the altar in the little chapel, 
and lie in mute supplication, or she would 
walk half-way down the mountain to confess 
to the old cur£ in the village ; but she 
always turned back before she reached him. 
She could not bring herself to speak of the 
love that filled her. Not to a creature 
apart from Ivo could she utter a word of 
the sacred marvel, the secret and the crown 
of life which she and he had discovered 
together. So she allowed the moments of 
torment to pass in silence, and her heart 
grew stronger till she almost forgot that 
Ivo was deceived. After all, was that a 
fraud which revealed her true self to him ? 

For some sinister purpose of his own 
Volmer hurried on the marriage, which was 
solemnized in the ugly little chapel, the 
bride wearing the peasant's dress in which 
her lover had first seen her, and which had 
charmed his artist eyes. Volmer and Getha 
were the only witnesses of the ceremony, 
and after it was over the former left the 
wedded pair to their honeymoon ; but he 
returned, like a bird of ill-omen, after a brief 
three weeks' absence. 

" I could almost believe I had hypnotised 
myself," he told Nasha an hour after his 
arrival, as he watched her supervise the 
preparations for his supper ; " you have come 
wonderfully near to being beautiful ! " 

Ivo's wife made a movement of impatience, 
and did not immediately respond ; then, in a 
low voice, and with downcast eyes, she 
answered him with a question : — 

" How long is this to last ? " 

"What? Are you tiring of your idyll 
already ? It will last, if you must know, just 
so long as I live." 

" Then — should you die " 

"Your dream will be over. Make the 
most of it. Not that I intend to die yet, but 
one never knows." 

" It was not for my sake at all that you 
worked this spell ? " said Nasha. 

"No. It was partly to test my powers, 




and partly to keep his money in the 

"You are the devil's self !" she exclaimed 


"But you shall not ruin him as you have 
ruined others. He shall know " 

"What? That he has been trapped into 
marrying a scarecrow whom he believes to 
be a Venus? How do you think he would 
bear the knowledge? Be sensible, Nasha,, 
and keep a still tongue. Thank the saints 
you have so skilful a brother One word 
from me, and you lose Ivo for ever ! " 

Launching this shaft Volmer left the room, 
laughing softly and glancing at his sister 
with a certain furtive expression, which 
was very feline, Nasha sat plunged in 
thought At first she had accepted the de- 
ception for her own sake, but very quickly 
her longing and desire had become intensi- 
fied by the realization that Ivo would gain 
more than she could by the love that united 
them. Before he met her wealth had been 
degrading him, and he was beginning to 
fvv\ not only enervated, but disgusted by 
life* The old enthusiasms which illumined 
his days of poverty and obscurity had flared 


out fruitlessly in the early days of his 
sudden prosperity* He had unexpectedly 
inherited a large fortune, and in the indul- 
gence of every fancy and 
of eve^ generous im- 
pulse he had lost his 
hold upon himself, and 
become the easy prey of 
those who make life an 
ignoble chase after sen- 
suous satisfaction — mis- 
called happiness, Nasha 
knew that she had re- 
called him to his better 
self; knew that her love 
had rekindled the high 
thoughts and aims of the 
days before he became a 
mere votary of pleasure; 
knew that if he learnt the 
truth he would* in losing 
faith in her* lose faith in 
everything human and 
divine, sink into a 
deepening despondency, 
and end a despairing 
sceptic. Could she, dared 
she, risk this ? No ! Her 
first wrong had given her 
future wrong the guise 
of "the only practicable 

Volmer heard no more 
from his sister on the 
subject of Ivo's illusion, 
and when he announced 
his intention of returning to Paris, and taking 
Ivo with him, Nasha made no sign. But 
alone with her husband, a wild desire came 
upon her to test Volmer's influence over 
him, to pit her power against her brother's* 
Surely, love like hers was stronger than 
any mesmeric spell. She put her arm round 
Ivo's neck, and turned his face towards her 
own ■ — 

"Must you go to Paris, love? I shall be 
so lonely without you ! " 

*' It is Volmer's wish ; I must go, my 
darling 1 " 

" Ah ! I see how it is. You are growing 
weary of this life — of me," 

" Nasha ! I implore you ! Have I not 
told you a thousand times my happiness is 
here with you — that I never knew what it 
was to be truly happy till I loved you ? " 
" Then why leave me ? " 
11 Because Volmer has asked me to go to 
Paris with him. It will only be for a few 




1 'Take me with you." 

u Impossible, dearest ; we are going on 
business. Volmer " 

" Volmer, Volmer ! It is always Volmer I 
Are you a child to be led like this ? One 
would think you had no will but his," 

Ivo's sensitive mouth trembled, his eyes 
grew dim and troubled* the sunshine seemed 
suddenly to die out of his beautiful face. He 
laid his head upon his wife 3 s shoulder, 
wearily, like a tired child, and clung to her 
strong hand. 

M No will but his ! Sometimes I think so/' 

Nasha's heart sank within her. Her 
punishment had begun. The deceit by 
which she had won him was beginning to 
work out its own retribution, and he, the 
innocent, must suffer with her, the guilty. 
For his sake, she would make a last effort. 

" Dear Ivo, do you love me?" 

He raised his eyes to her face, then gently 
released himself from her arm, and holding 
her from him said, speaking low and 
gravely : — 

" Have I given you cause to doubt me, 

M No, oh, no ! I am only too much afraid 
of believing my own heart. I like to hear 
you say what it tells me; then I feel sure." 

t( My love, 
my dear love ! J ' 

"If I am 
that, stay with 
me ! w pleaded 
Nasha; "let 
Volmer go to 
Paris alone," 

u You ask an 
impossibility. I 
cannot take 
back my word, 
dearest. I am 

Nasha kept 
silence. He did 
not know how 
true his words 
were. Bound ? 
Yes ! And she, 
who loved him 
better than her 
life, had con- 
sented to and 
riveted that bon- 
dage. Her love 
was powerless to 
save him ; he 
would have to 
go the fatal way 


of all her brother's victims, while she stood 
by, watching, but impotent. This would be 
her awful punishment. 

The following week the two men went 
back to Paris, Old Getha shook her head 
as their carriage passed out of sight* She 
had always known how it would be I No 
good ever came of hurried bridals ; of course, 
the handsome gentleman had wearied of his 
wife, and no wonder ! The Countess Nasha 
was as good as gold, and much more clever 
than most men ; but gay young fellows only 
cared for pretty faces, and the chances were 
the Countess would never see her husband 
again. Beauty should mate with beauty. 

For a long time similar thoughts filled 
Nasha's sad heart, and a thousand wild 
ideas, a thousand schemes, came into her 
head during her sleepless nights. She would 
go to Paris and bring him back— she would 
ask him at Yolmer's hands > and then — but, 
no ! She had done him a great wrong, and, 
now that he was free, she would not stir a 
finger to bring him back to captivity. His 
rightful place was in the world, where he 
could do so much good. Or, again, she 
would give way to her intense desire for his 
presence, and nurse the thought that he 
would return in the summer or the early 

autumn. But 
autumn brought 
nothing, save a 
hope that should 
have drawn him 
closer to her t 
Getha shook 
her head more 
mournfully than 
ever, but she 
was soon ab- 
sorbed by her 
usual prepara- 
tions for the 
winter, and by 
the time the 
frosts had come 
and the snow 
had put the 
household in a state of 
siege, all seemed as it 
had been in the years 
gone by, save for the 
ring on Nasha's finger 
and the unwonted fabri- 
cation of little garments 
which occupied her 

By the mercy of the 
■j am bound." i gin a I frcsaants the snow began 


3 6 ° 


to melt in January, and the first emissary to 
Eagle's Gorge from the outside world was the 
postman with a telegram for Nasha. 

" Volmer has died suddenly. I am com- 
ing back: to you, — Ivo." 

Coming back alone ! Coming back to 
what? To a loving wife whose face was 
hideous* whose long figure was lean and 
ungainly, who lacked all the grace and 
attraction he had been bewitched into 
attributing to her. He was coming back to 
shocking disenchantment — perhaps to such 
disgust and loathing that he would make her 
bitter grief more bitter by cursing and for- 
swearing her and her unborn child. Even 
so : she loved him well enough to bear all in 
silence, to let him go, renounce, forget her, 
and to wear out her own heart in the solitary 
wilds of Eagle's Gorge, where none would 
intrude upon her desolation or remark her 
pain. Volmer was dead ! Doubtless his life 
had flashed out in some swift disaster of his 
own occasioning, and there had been no time 
to set things right for her, so that her peace, 
her joy, her dream of continued happiness 
had vanished with him. The second effect 
of Ivo's message was to appal and stupefy 
her ; but she soon reawakened to the full 


significance of the fatal words. She under- 
stood all they meant, and all the years to 

come would mean^ and she was driven near 
to frenzy* 

" Oh, God 3 let me keep him ! Let me 
be always beautiful in his eyes I Let him 
never know me other than what he believes 
me to be. Let me die rather than he should 
know the truth. He must not know ! He 
shall not know ! I would sooner have him 
blind !— blind ! 

Ah, God! what was she saying? What 
was she praying for ? Where was her terror 
driving her? It was her husband, the father 
of her child, upon whom she was invoking 
calamity. The thought of the helpless being 
who was not wholly hers nor wholly his, but 
belonging to both, seemed to stem the 
torrent of her remorseful passion, and to 
partly calm the storm in her heart She 
instinctively turned towards the chapel, and 
throwing herself at the foot of her bridal 
altar she silently sought help and guidance 
from the long-suffering God whose name is 
so often taken in vain, 

There, several hours later, Getha found 
her senseless, Ivo's telegram clutched in 
her hand. The old woman read it by the 
flickering light of the lamp she carried, and 
she thought .she comprehended the situation. 
Her one fear was lest the long-absent husband 
might return too late. 

When Nasha awoke to consciousness the 
year was two months old. She remembered 
everything perfectly. She asked for a 
calendar, and counted the days since the 
fatal news had been brought her- Probably 

in the interval he had 
come, seen her, and 
gone, but she dared ask 
no questions, She lay 
mute and white for 
awhile, feeling more 
than thinking ; then 
she bent over the baby 
face sleeping beside 
her, and carefully 
scrutinized its tender 
lineaments. Thank 
God ! Some, at least, of 
her strenuous prayers 
had been answer- 
ed : her infant did 
not resemble her. 

Love, the mys- 
terious artificer, 
working unseen, 
had moulded the 
little creature in 
the image of its father; the bud contained 
the promiseOrfgasaHfikcuati beauty; it would 





blossom by-and-by into as fine and sweet a 
flower. " Enfant de Tamour ressemble tou- 
jours au pfcre." Nasha lay long pondering on 
the sweet phase of her life which was for 
ever passed, and letting one of her sensitive 
hands stray over the precious little hostage 
she had given to fortune, while her other 
hand and arm held it fast The room was 
darkened, but her eyes, accustomed to the 
gloom, saw that the place where her atten- 
dant had been sitting was vacant, and that 
she was alone. 

By-and-by someone fumbled at the latch 
of the . door. Evidently the person was a 
stranger, unacquainted with the old-fashioned 
fastening;, yet surely there was light -in the 
corridor, and they could see the way to lift 
it Was this still a part of the wearying, con- 
fused dream through which she had been so 
long struggling, and which had just now 
seemed dispelled ? The thought — the dread 
of Ivo rushed upon her, and her delirium 
threatened to return. Her arm tightened 
round her child, and every combative instinct 
within her became suddenly on the alert. 
He should not take this treasure from her 
— all else, his love, himself, his name, she 
deserved to lose, for she had cruelly deceived 
him ; but the child should not be torn from 
her while she lived. How softly and un- 
certainly he was moving now that he had 
got into the room. She watched him from 
under her half-closed lids — watched him 
intently, her heart nearly standing still in 
the stress of her agonizing suspense. He 
approached her with outstretched arms. 
She saw that he wore his travelling cloak, 
and that it was thrown open, showing his 
firm white throat. Oh, how dear he was to 
her ! What fate could be worse than losing 
him ? Could she survive another parting ? 
She clasped the child and trembled; the 
bitterness of death was in that moment. 

His step was unsteady, and he seemed 
afraid of knocking something down. Perhaps 
the outside sunshine still dazzled his eyes, 
and he could not perceive the objects in 
that darkened room ; but presently he 
reached the carved bedpost and grasped it 
with an eager gesture ; then he began feel- 
ing along the edge of the coverlet towards 
where she lay. She thought she understood 
the action ; he fancied she was asleep. She 
could not speak, her throat seemed parched ; 
terror of the moment when he would see 
her and know the truth, paralyzed her. He 
seemed to be groping by the side of the bed 
— it was a strange and ugly word, but she 
could find no other to express his peculiar 

movements ; then she felt his hand upon her, 
and her soul seemed to rush out to him, 
while a convulsive movement agitated her 
whole being, but no sound came from her 
parted lips, though she strove to speak his 
name. Then he stooped, and she felt his 
lips on hers in such a kiss as they had known 
but once before. 

" Nasha ! " 

His voice was full of love, and of a new 
tenderness. She looked into his face, and 
saw that he was gazing fixedly at her, but 
there was no horror, no surprise in his eyes. 
She must have shown the eager astonish- 
ment' in her, but Ivo did not appear to 
notice it- She could hot immediately reply 
to his fond greeting — she could riot obey the 
impulse to raise her unoccupied hand and 
touch his dear head, for the dread lest he 
did not yet understand, and lest he would still 
repudiate her, weighed down her heart Had 
Volmer lived long enough to make all right 
for her ? He had been wild, and she had 
thought him heartless, but perhaps he had 
loved her, and had remembered, if there had 
been time 


Ivo was clinging to the hand which lay 
outside the bedclothes. He was bending 
over her until she could feel his heart beat, 
and she found him searching for her face as 
though his eyes were in his fingers. Ah ! 
he loved her still. Volmer's spell was yet 
upon him, but now he would love the child, 
and if the child outlived the spell she would 
form a new and powerful link between them 
that would make all further spell needless. 

" Do you see the child ? " she asked, 
following out her thoughts ; " she is so 
beautiful ! " 

" How could it be otherwise, Nasha, when 
her mother is so beautiful ? " 

She grew paler than ever against the white 

" But you must look at her. See, Ivo ! " 

He felt for the baby's face as he had felt 
for hers. 

11 Is she not beautiful ? " asked Nasha. 

" You tell me so, love ! " 

Something in the -intonation of his voice, 
or in his manner, struck a chill into her. 
She looked keenly at him, forgetting every- 
thing in the world beside him ; she strug- 
gled into a sitting posture, letting the child slip 
from her arm, and stretched out her strong, 
supple white hands — those hands he had so 
justly admired in the early days of their love — 
to draw him to her. She sought to scrutinize 
his face, but he lowered his head from her 




keen eyes ; yet in the rapid glance she 
realized anew that the baby was very like 
him. The tender thoughts and hopes which 
had been her sole consolation during the 
long months of his absence had fulfilled 
themselves in her infant daughter. 

"Let me look at you, Ivo," she entreated, 
gently turning up his reluctant chin. Then 
she saw, as she gazed upon him, gaining 
courage from his undaunted calm, many 
things she had never noted in his face before; 
fijst, great weariness, then a terrible pallor, 
then— ah ! surely she was dreaming — she 
feared to resolve her douht. 

"You have been ill ! w she cried 

M Yes, It was that which kept me from 

" There is something the matter with your 
eyes ! " 

His answer sounded more like a sob than 
a sigh, 

"You are blind?" questioned Nasha, 

"Totally," said 
Ivo, with a gesture 
of unutterable 

M Can you not 
see the child ? " 

"No," he re 
sponded, drawing 
a deep breath that 
expressed a sort of 
heart-broken resig- 

"Nor— me?" 

" No, my be- 
loved ; but I can 
remember your 
face. I shall never 

Nasha was 
silent ; the tumult 
in her heart was 
too great for 
speech. She clasped 
him close, and 
caressed his tired 
head, kissing the 
eyes that were so 
pathetically un- 
aware of all her outward deficiencies. Blind? 
Could it indeed be true ? Would he never- 
more behold the light? What was the 
impious prayer which had been upon her 
lips when darkness overtook her, and she 
was stricken down at the foot of her bridal 
altar ? " Come what may, let me keep his 
love ! Let him never know— But 

she had not meant this! No, no; this 
was not an answer to her prayer. She 
writhed under the thought, though she 
repelled it so quickly, She had only prayed 
to retain his love ; she had not asked God 
to hide her from him ; and, with her, his 
child, and all the beautiful earth, the flowers, 
the trees, the sunshine he had so rejoiced in! 
No, no; this was too cruel! Gradually, 
while her arms were twined about him, the 
full extent of his calamity became clear to 
her mind, and with the realization afaintness 
overcame her. She released her husband, 
and lay back among the pillows, with diffi- 
culty repressing a groan of mingled terror 
and remorse* He sat patiently upon the 
bed, listening keenly to her movements, and 
fondling the child, which his hands had 

After a while Nasha spoke :— 

" How was it ? " 
" There was a 
fire at the hotel. 
Volmer had come 
into my room. I 
tried to save him." 
"You lost your 
sight trying to save 
Ftf/w^ilife?' 3 

" My darling, he 
was your brother." 
" He was your 
worst enemy — and 
mine I* 

" Hush, Nasha ! 
He is dead I " 

"And he de- 
served to die I But 
you — you — oh ! to 
have this death in 
life close down 
upon you ! It is 
my sin, my sin that 
has brought it 
about ! But you 
shall know the 
truth, and then 



41 Nasha, dear 
love, be calm ! 
You are over- 
wrought Let me call Get ha." 

4 * No, no ! Stay here, I must tell you 
I am nothing that you believe me to be, 
Ivo. You have thought me beautiful. I 
am hideous ! Now— go ! " 

" Nasha, Nasha, I entreat you ! It is not 
you who speak. You are beside yourself ! " 
"Not nfl\Ti=ttfbl*ftwnbcen— and you, too, 




Is that Volmer's 


have been made mad, You have been fooled, 
tricked, duped, trapped, made the subject of 
experiment. But now 1 am sane I am going 
to cure you. Volmer hypnotised you for his 
own devilish ends, and made you believe that 
I was beautiful. It is a lie ! It has all been 
a lie ! Go ! go ! " 

II Do you send me from you, Nasha ? I 
loved you, and I love you— but, alas ! I am 
not only a blind man now, I am poor, help- 
less, ruined ! 3? 

u Ruined ? By whom ? 
work, too ? " 

"He is dead, Nasha!" 

" Dead ! He deserved death ! Forger, 
thief, gambler, sorcerer!" 

" Dearest, for my sake, forgive him, 

" He did not deserve your forgiveness ! I 
do not deserve it ! I am his sister." 

"You are my wife, Nasha, my beloved, 
my " 

"You do not believe what I have told 
you. You think me raving ! But it is true." 

II I must believe 
because you say it. 
But if it be true, 
what matter ? I 
loved you for a 
beauty which you 
tell me is an 
illusion of my 
senses, but I also 
loved you for the 
soul within. I 
cannot cease to 
love you till you 
persuade me that 
you have ceased 
to be what I have 
proved you— pure, 
noble, generous, 
and brave. You 
are none the less 
the Nasha of my 
heart for this 
strange story— my 
Nasha, whom I 
yearned anew for 
when this dark- 
ness came upon 
me. How I 

craved for you ! 
How I longed for 

the sound of your voice, the touch of your 
hand ! All my life I had been seeking you, 
until the happy day when Volmer brought 
me here. And now — oh, my darling, I will 
not fetter you — you shall be freed ! I am a 
poor, helpless creature, not the man you 
married You do not deserve to have such 

a burden thrust upon you " 

11 Ivo, Ivo, you are more precious to me 
than anything in the world but this ! " cried 
Nasha, raising herself and pressing the 
baby's waxen fingers to his facej "and this 
is only so precious because it is yours* too." 
" But a helpless beggar, Nasha ! Think 
of the shadow on your life, and how it will 
spoil it" 

" Not so, dear love, not so. You are my 
sun, my world, my all. Thank God, you 
have no home but this I Now, indeed, I 
truly feel that you are mine, my own twin 
soul, and nought can come between us." 

She drew the blind man down until his 
brown head rested on her bosom beside 
their child's, and both were encircled in her 

passionate em- 
brace. Instead of 
taking up a load, 
she was conscious 
in that moment of 
losing a heavy 
weight of care and 
trouble. What Ivo 
called a burden 
was indeed a bur- 
den of joy Love, 
satisfied, content, 
sent a r^w strength 
coursing through 
her pulses, and 
Duty, wearing the 
aspect of an angel, 
whispered the 
words retribution, 
expiation, which 
fell [ike music on 
her ear. Joyfully 
her glad soul re- 
echoed the soft 
accents, and never, 
since the world 
began, did pen- 
ance prove so 
easy, nor expia- 
tion so sweet 


by Google 

Original from 

Infinite Love. 

Dedicated to my friend, Hahky Fluhket Greene. 

Words by 
Dante Gabriel Rossettl 

Music by 
Maud Valerie White* 



Andante ma n$n trej$o. 

£ is 


* h ^ ; 




—i i 

J£iftj'tssiv0 t 


-• * 

-M — * 


1EH— ? fa:-=3iigi 

What o 

Iber woman could be loved 

like you ? 




This song will be published in different keys by RobmW SH3w ftP&B"! 







y»" "•■X— 


of you should Love pos - sess 

his fill, 





-rt-t-F ^ T .p rr 1 " == * 






v • 1 — 16 

Af - - ter the ful 

ness of all rap 

ture still ? 


/"S I \ 

3 W^ 







at the end .... of some deep a - 

ve - nue, 








Sj^ ejj 1 rrr 1 ^ 


J-L rrl ^rtrffi 










Molto esprasivo, piu Unto, 


\— &- ■- 






. to view, 

Far in your eyes, . . . 


Mtf . • - 



&va.... loco. 

-I-*-— L 




*j. * 

& ^=i=JUl!JS^ 


f— rr 

Un poco agitato* 




J* K=3s 






yet . • . . . more hung'ring thrill, . . . . 












Love's . 


soul winnowing hands 

«- ! -»»-r- 


dis - tU, 



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^ ^ 

==? *- 


- i — — r 

his in most 





It: I \ — ^ ^~ fit ' "^ ^- 


7'ernpQ ftim&* 

and dew. 

*_t_« - •—"&"_* 

5 =Ff ■i-E-^ar-f 











fc ^r^TSffsa^ gfff-tf 


^Eggp i ^fetg^g ^g 






tber wo-man could be loved 

like you ? 

^^^^ mA^u^ ^^ 




a ' — 

T . f 'ftf 



J"" - ~-*c- 


?=» : 





Or . . . how of you • • . should Love pos - sess 

his fill? 



U^ v -- — z 









By ^OOgle 



3 6 9 








!-«■ ♦ 





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npzii^P ^SS^^I 







by Google 

Original from 

Vol iv.— 48. 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives, 

public her very remarkable talents, for, having 
one day been prevailed upon to look at a 
setting of her's in the Academy, he was so 
impressed with the beauty and originality 
of it, that he sang it in public, and made 
of it a splendid success* The name of 
this song was "Montrose's Love Song." 
Mr. Santley also brought the musical 

public in contact 
with two of her 
most effective and 
successful efforts, 
viz., "The Devout 
I -over" and "Absent 
Yet Present/' Miss 
^ White is a highly 

A accomplished lin- 

guist, and hers is 
a familiar face, as 
an accompanist, at 
important concerts. 
Her latest song, 
written especially 
for this Magazine, 
will be found in 
the preceding 


fl|k\g£ H WHITE was born at Dieppe 
$l^w!( ft during a visit of her parents 

to Europe from Valparaiso, 

H er pr ogen i tors, h wever, 
were English ; her grandfather on the 
mother's side being a naval officer, who 
had the distinction of serving with 
Nelson on board the Victory, at Trafal- 
gar, in which engagement he was 
wounded. When in her teens, Miss 
White took up her residence in Eng- 
land, and received her first instruction 
in music from Mr. \Y, S. Roekstro and 
from Mr, Oliver May* In 1876 she 
entered the Royal Academy of Music 
as a student, studying for composition 
under the late Sir (i* A. Macfarren. In 
1879 she gained the Mendelssohn 
Scholarship, the committee of which 
decided that she should continue her 
studies at the Academy, But it was Mr. 
Charles Santley who first revealed to the Frtm „ ™^ M fUEUWUU^Jitt, H VP h». u™, st. lW .a 




portrait, received an early training, have 
been of considerable use to him in his pro- 
fession, as he executed the whole of the 
illustrations for Sir Morell Mackenzie's great 
work on " Growths of the Larynx," and also 
for his own celebrated book, " The Throat 
and its Diseases." He was mainly instru- 
mental in founding the Central London 

.m;i- i ft. 

| rbtitopraph. 

Born 1S41, 
has stepped into the shoes of 
Sir Morell Mackenzie as an 
authority on diseases of the 
throat, was at the age of twenty- 
five Sir MorelFs chief clinical assistant. 
His artistic gifts, which are well known, and 
which, as may be judged from our first 

Frrmt a Phfito. tiy\ 

AGE 26. 

[Mvtra ** HaiQh. 

Throat and Ear Hospital, of which he is the 
senior surgeon ; he is consulting surgeon to 
several other hospitals. He enjoys an espe- 
cially large practice among actors, singers, and 
clergymen, who are particularly liable to lose 
their voices in the exercise of their vocations. 

ACE 41. 
ftvta « P» ntinff by Seyvivur Linear, A-iLA+ 


citon ft >wn 




^*^^ __p*^**^ ' ~ JP* 

P M ; 


J>pHl <lj 



Born 1869. 

FIHE DUG D'AOSTA, who has 
recently been visiting this country, 
|f| has, although but a young man, 
experienced many changes and 
vicissitudes of fortune. He is the 
nephew of the King of Italy, and stands 
next to his cousin, the Prince of Naples^ in 

the order of succession to the throne. His 
father was the late Prince Amadeus, King 
Humbert's brother, and his mother the 
beautiful Princess Maria* His own name is 

Ftom a] 

AGE S3* 


From a] 

age ± 


Emmanuel, after his grandfather. At the age 
of two he was taken to Madrid, on the 
election of Prince Amadeus, his father, as 
King of Spain ; but the Doc de Pouilles, 
which was then the baby's title, occupied the 
position of Heir Apparent to the Spanish 
throne only two years, until the abdication 
of his father in 1873. Prince Emmanuel 
is a captain of Artillery and an officer of 
the high^j^ipf.Qp MICHIGAN 



JVom a Ptofc. fr*l AGH IB, 1 Lfrmann, JJerfin 



Born 1838. 

[LLE + ZfeUE 
LIEU was bom at Paris, 
her family belonging to 
the oldest nobility of 
France, She was taught 
the piano at the age of 
six, and, on the discovery 
that she possessed a re- 
markable contralto voice, 
was trained for the lyric 
stage by Hcrr Waste 1, 
She made her first ap- 
pearance at Madrid in 

Italian name in order 
to succeed in Italian- 
opera, M ad em oi set le 
Gillebert formed the 
name by which she 
was known to the 
public by leaving out 
the G of her own 
name and spelling the 
remai n der back wa rds. 
From the first there was 
no doubt of her right 
to stand in the very 
foremost rank of great 
singers. In 1 862 she first 
appeared in London, 
and soon afterwards 
married Signor Bettini. 
In private life she was 
loved and respected by 

AGE 36. 

From a Photo, bv JTrwmwdfr. Vienna. 

ACE $ft. 

f Vwm a Photo, bf IkteAham <t GarHil, Bournemouth. 

" Norma," at the age of twenty-one, and as it all who kfiflte^B^lifindrher recent unexpected 
was at that time indispensable to have an deat^|^t^jqi|i^^id^ff|^f|egret* 




Born 1850, 

RTHUR ROBERTS, "the fun- 
niest man in London/' was born 
Kentish Town, and started 
life, at about the age at which 
our first portrait represents him, 
in a solicitors office, where one of his 
principal duties was to serve writs ; but 
his salary not being equal to his ambition, 
he decided, with a lawyer's shrewdness, 
to eke it out by fulfilling any theatrical 
engagements — which were chiefly at smo king- 
concerts — he could obtain after dark. A 

From a] 

AGE 15* 

1 Photo ffrajfti. 

lawyer by day, and an entertainer by night, 
he continued to be for eight years, until, at 
the age of twenty-five, he finally adopted the 
stage as a profession. Since that time he has 
played with enormous success, at first in music- 
halls and afterwards in theatres, creating a 
succession of characters which caused his 
audiences to scream with laughter. His most 
notable triumphs have been, perhaps, in 
14 Madame Favart/' " The Old C.uard/' 
u Nadgy/' "Lancelot The Lovely/' and 
41 Joan oi Arc," Mr. Roberts, who is, if pos- 
sible, a funnier man off the stage than he is 
on it, lives in a large corner house at Maida 
Vale with his wife, son, and daughter. He 
is devotedly fond of cricket, and when on 
tour always organizes an eleven among his 
company, 'which is too strong for most oppo- 

Frvm a Photo, by] 

age 33. 

| Fry, Brwblt**- 

nents. He is also extremely fond of yacht- 
ing, and is a lover of horses, of which he 
generally keeps four or five. No biography 
of Mr. Roberts, however brief, can omit to 
mention that he is the inventor of the 
immortal game of "Spoof" 

• < 

Prwn « JlfyfeUfr, 




From a Photo, GyJ 

AGE 2tJ. 

\Petil, rari*. 


Born 1831. 

J the son of a professor in Paris, 
I began life as a medical student, 
but was forced by want of means 
to give lessons in mathematics 
and to write a little for the reviews. His 

a complete failure, and three years later he 
was living, or rather dying, in a garret, miser- 
ably poor and struck down by typhoid fever. 
A neighbour, Mademoiselle de Br^court, 
nursed him with tender care, and on his 
recovery he married her. Then, undeterred 
by his former failure, he turned again to 
writing plays, with such phenomenal success 
that before the age at which he is depicted in 
our second portrait he was master of a princely 
fortune and a w T orld-wide reputation. He 
is best known in England by "Fedora * and 

FfWn O JPAnio, hv\ 

jusa 50. 

r,Y«lnfar, Part*. 

"Theodora," which he wrote for Sarah Bern- 
hardt His reception into the French 
Academy took place in 1878. 

JVon n ph&tc |yj 

AGE £?. 

[Pttii. Pari*. 

first play was produced at the age at w T hich 
our first portrait represents him, but proved 

ffffirtRSITY OHstteittSAN "**"^ 

The Great Ruby Robbery : a Detective Story. 

By Grant Allen. 

American heiress. As she 
justly remarked, this was a 
commonplace profession for a 
young woman nowadays; for 
almost everybody of late years 
has been an American and an heiress. A 
poor California^ indeed, would be a charm- 
ing novelty in London society. But London 
society, so far, has had to go without one, 

Persis Remanet was on her way back from 
the Wilcoxes* ball. She was stopping, of 
course, with Sir Everard and Lady Maclure 
at their house at Hampstead* I say u of 
course ,J advisedly ; because if you or I go 
to see New York, we have to put up at our 
own expense (five dollars a day, without wine 
or extras) at the Windsor or the Fifth Avenue; 
but when the pretty American comes to 
London (and every American girl is ex officio 
pretty, in Europe at least ; I suppose they 
keep their ugly ones at home for domestic 
consumption) she is invariably the guest 
either of a dowager duchess or of a Royal 
Academician, like Sir Everard, of the first 
distinction. Yankees visit Europe, in fact, 
to see, among other things, our art and our 
old nobility; and by dint of native persist- 
ence they get into places that you and I 
could never succeed in penetrating, unless 
we devoted all the energies of a long and 
blameless life to securing an invitation* 

Persis hadn't been to the Wilcoxes with 
Ijady Maclure, however. The Maclures were 
too really great to know such people as the 
Wilcoxes, who were something tremendous 
in the City, but didn't buy pictures ; and 
Academicians, you know^ don't care to culti- 
vate City people — unless they're customers, 
(** Patrons," the Academicians more usually 
call them ; but I prefer the simple business 
word myself as being a deal less patronizing.) 
So Persis had accepted an invitation from 
Mrs. Duncan Harrison, the wife of the well- 
known member for the Hackness Division of 
Elmetshire, to take a seat in her carriage to 
and from the Wilcoxes. Mrs. Harrison knew 
the habits and manners of American heiresses 
too well to offer to chaperon Persis ; and 

indeed, Persis, as a free-born American citizen, 
was quite as well able to take care of herself, 
the wide world over, as any three ordinary 
married Englishwomen* 

Now, Mrs. Harrison had a brother, an 
Irish baronet, Sir Justin ? Byrne, later of the 
Eighth Hussars, who had been with them to 
the Wilcoxes, and who accompanied them 
home to Hampstead on the back seat of the 
carriage. Sir Justin was one of those charm- 
ing, ineffective, elusive Irishmen whom every- 
body likes and everybody disapproves of 
He had been everywhere, and done every- 
thing — except to earn an honest livelihood. 
The total absence of rents during the sixties 
and seventies had never prevented his father, 
old Sir Terence 0'Byrne T who sat so long for 
Connemara in the un reformed Parliament, 
from sending his son Justin in state to Eton, 
and afterwards to a fashionable college at 
Oxford. '* He gave me the education of a 
gentleman," Sir Justin was wont regretfully 
to observe ; ** but he omitted to give me also 
the income to keep it up with." 

Nevertheless, society felt O'Ryrne was the 
sort of man who must be kept afloat some- 
how; and it kept him afloat accordingly in 
those mysterious ways that only society 
understands, and that you and I, who are not 
society, could never get to the bottom of if 
we tried for a century. Sir Justin himself 
had essayed Parliament, too, where he 
sat for a while behind the great Parnell with- 
out for a moment forfeiting society's regard 
even in those earlier days when it was held 
as a prime article of faith by the world that 
no gentleman could possibly call himself a 
Home-Ruler. Twas only one of G'Byrne's 
wild Irish tricks, society said> complacently, 
with that singular indulgence it always 
extends to its special favourites, and which 
is, in fact, the correlative of that unsparing 
cruelty it shows in turn to those who happen 
to offend against its unwritten precepts. If 
Sir Justin had blown up a Czar or two in a 
fit of political exuberance, society would only 
have regarded the escapade as "one of 
O'Byrne's eccentricities." He had also held 
a commission for a while in a cavalry regi- 
ment, which he left, it was understood, owing 




to a difference of opinion about a lady with 
the colonel ; and he was now a gentleman- 
at-large on London society, supposed by those 
who know more 
about everyone 
than one knows 
about oneself to 
be on the look- 
out for a nice 
girl with a little 

Sir Justin had 
paid Persis a 
great deal of at- 
tention that par- 
ticular evening ; 
in point of fact, 
he had paid her 
a great deal of 
attention from 
the very first, 
whenever he met 
her; and on the 
way home from 
the dance he had 
kept his eyes 
fixed on Persist 
face to an extent 
that was almost 
The pretty Cali- 
fornian leaned 
back in her place 
in the carriage 
and surveyed him 
looking her level 

languidly, She was 
best that night, in her 
pale pink dress, with the famous Remanet 
rubies in a cascade of red light setting 
off that snowy neck of hers, TPwiS a 
neck for a painter. Sir Justin let his eyes 
fall regretfully more than once on the 
glittering rubies. He liked and admired 
Persis^ oh ! quite immensely. Your society 
man who has been through seven or eight 
Ixjndon seasons could hardly be expected to 
go quite so far as falling in love with 
any woman ; his habit is rather to look 
about him critically among all the nice 
girls trotted out by their mammas for 
his lordly inspection, and to reflect with a 
faint smile that this, that, or the other one 
might perhaps really suit him — if it were not 
for— and there comes in the inevitable But 
of all human commendation. Still, Sir 
Justin admitted with a sigh to himself that he 
liked Persis ever so much ; she was so fresh 
and original ! and she talked so cleverly ! 
As for Persia she would have given her eyes 
(like every other American girl) to be made 

"my lady " j and she had seen no man yet, with 
that auxiliary title in his gift, whom she liked 
half so well as this delightful wild Irishman. 

At the Mac- 
lures' door the 
carriage stopped, 
Sir Justin jumped 
out and gave his 
hand to Persis. 
You know the 
house well, of 
course ; Sir Eve- 
rard Maclure's ; 
it's one of those 
large new artistic 
mansions, in red 
brick and old 
oak, on the top 
of the hill ; and 
it stands a little 
way back from 
the road, dis- 
creetly retiredj 
with a big 
wooden porch, 
very convenient 
for leave-taking. 
Sir Justin ran up 
the steps with 
Persis to ring the 
bell for her ; he! 
had too much of 
the irrepressible 
Irish blood in 
his veins to leave that pleasant task to his 
sister's footman. But he didn't ring if at 
once ; at the risk of keeping Mrs. Harrison 
waiting outside for nothings he stopped and 
talked a minute or so with the pretty 
American. u You looked charming to-night, 
Miss Remanet/* he said, as she threw back 
her light opera wrap for a moment in the 
porch and displayed a single flash of that 
snowy neck with the famous rubies ; if those 
stones become you so." 

Persis looked at him and smiled. " You 
think so? 13 she said, a little tremulous, for 
even your American heiress, after all, is a 
woman. "Well, I'm glad you do. But it's 
good-bye to-night, Sir Justin, for I go next 
week to Paris. 1 ' 

Even in the gloom of the porch, just 
lighted by an artistic red and blue lantern in 
wrought iron, she could see a shade of dis- 
appointment pass quickly over his handsome 
face as he answered, with a little gulp, " No ! 
you don't mean that? Oh, Miss Remanet, 
Fm so sorry ! " Then he paused and drew 

^rvoaffVaFMCHiGAN ■^J"*" hc * 

Vol. iv. — 49. 




continued, il perhaps — — /' and there lie 
checked himself. 

Persis looked up at him hastily. " Yet, 
after all, what ? " she asked, with evident 
r interest 

The young man drew an almost inaudible 
sigh, " Yet, after all — nothing," he answered, 

"That might do for an Englishwoman," 
Persis put in, with American frankness, " but 
it won't do for me. You must tell me what 
you mean by it." For she reflected sagely 
that the happiness of two lives might depend 
upon those two minutes ; and how foolish to 
throw away the chance of a man you really 
like (with a my-ladyship to boot), all for the 
sake of a pure convention ! 

Sir Justin leaned against the woodwork of 
that retiring porch. She was a beautiful 
girl. He had hot 
Irish blood, . , , 
Well, yes; just for 
once — he would 
say the plain truth 
to her 

" Miss Rem a- 
net/' he began, 
leaning forward, 
and bringing his 
face close to hers, 
w MlSS Remanet — 
Persis — shall I tell 
you the reason 
why ? Because I 
like you so much. 

I almost think I 
love you ! J ' 

Persis felt the 
blood quiver in 
her tingling 
cheeks. How 
handsome he was 
— and a baronet ! 

"And yet you're 
not altogether 
sorry," she said, 

II that I'm going 
to Paris!" 

11 No, not alto- 
gether sorry," he answered, sticking to it; 
"and I'll tell you why, too. Miss Remanet. 
I like you very much, and I think you like 
me. For a week or two, I've been saying to 
myself, ' I really believe I must ask her to 
marry h\qJ The temptation's been so strong 
I could hardly resist it." 

" And why do you want to resist it ? " 


Persis asked, all tremulous. 

Sir Justin hesitated a second ; then with a 
perfectly natural and instinctive movement 
(though only a gentleman wculd have ven- 
tured to make it) he lifted hi: hand and just 
touched with the tips of his fingers the ruby 
pendants on her necklet " This is why," he 
answered simply, and with manly frankness, 
" Persis, you're so rich I I never dare ask 

" Perhaps you don't know what my answer 
would be," Persis murmured very low, just 
to preserve her own dignity. 

"Oh, yes ; I think I do," the young man 
replied, gazing deeply into her dark eyes. 
" It isn't that ; if it were only that, I wouldn't 
so much mind it But I think you'd take 
me." There was moisture in her eye. He 
went on more boldly; "I know you'd take 
me, Persis, and that's why I don't ask you. 

You Ve a great deal 
too rich, and these 
make it impos- 

"Sir Justin," 
Persis answered, 
removing his hand 
gently, but with 
the moisture 
growing thicker, 
for she really liied 
him, "it's most 
unkind of you to 
say so ; either you 
oughtn't to have 
told me at all, or 
else — if you did 
— * She stopped 
short Womanly 
shame overcame 

The man leaned 
forward and spoke 
earnestly. " Oh, 
don't say that ! " 
he cried, from his 
heart u I couldn't 
bear to offend 
you. But I 
couldn't bear, 
either, to let you 
go away — well — without hr.ving ever told you. 
In that case you might have thought I didn't 
care at all for you, and was only flirting with 
you. But, Persis, I've cared a great deal for 
you — a great, great deal — and had hard work 
many times to prevent myself from asking 
you, And 111 tell you the plain reason why 
I haven't askfeclr'j®in a I ftelfflman about town, 
not mu tn-J feieRSl TT^O ^M(PH IfflT Anybody or 



anything; and everybody says I'm on the 
look-out for an heiress — which happens not to 
be true ; and if I married you, everybody'd 
say, * Ah, there ! I told you so ! ' Now, I 
wouldn't mind that for myself ; I'm a man, 
and I could snap my fingers at them ; but I'd 
mind it foryou, Persis, for I'm enough in love 
with you to be very, very jealous, indeed, for 
your honour. I couldn't bear to think people 
should say, 'There's that pretty American girl, 
Persis Remanet that was, you know ; she's 
thrown herself away upon that good-for- 
nothing Irishman, Justin O'Byrne, a regular 
fortune-hunter, who's married her for her 
money.' So for your sake, Persis, I'd rather 
not ask you ; I'd rather leave you for some 
better man to marry." 

"But / wouldn't," Persis cried aloud. 
* c Oh, Sir Justin, you must believe me. You 
must remember " 

At that precise point, Mrs. Harrison put 
her head out of the carriage window and 
called out rather loudly : — 

"Why, Justin, what's keeping you? The 
horses'll catch their deaths of cold; and 
they were clipped this morning. Come back 
at once, my dear boy. Besides, you know, 
les convenances / " 

" All right; Nora," her brother answered ; 
" I won't be a minute. We can't get them 
to answer this precious bell. I believe it 
don't ring ! But I'll try again, anyhow." 
And half forgetting that his own words 
weren't strictly true, for he hadn't yet tried, 
he pressed the knob with a vengeance. 

" Is that your room with the light burning, 
Miss Remanet ? " he went on, in a fairly loud 
official voice, as the servant came to answer. 
" The one with the balcony, I mean ? Quite 
Venetian, isn't it ? Reminds one of Romeo 
and Juliet But most convenient for a burg- 
lary, too ! Such nice low rails ! Mind you 
take good care of the Remanet rubies ! " 

"I don't want to take care of them," Persis 
answered, wiping her dim eyes hastily with 
her lace pocket-handkerchief, " if they make 
you feel as you say, Sir Justin. I don't mind 
if they go. Let the burglar take them ! " 

And even as she spoke, the Maclure 
footman, immutable, sphinx-like, opened the 
door for her. 


Persis sat long in her own room that night 
before she began undressing. Her head was 
full of Sir Justin and these mysterious hints 
of his. At last, however, she took her rubies 
off, and her pretty silk bodice. " I don't 
care for them at all/' she thought, with a gulp, 

" if they keep from me the love of the man 
I'd like to marry." 

It was late before she fell asleep ; and 
when she did, her rest was troubled. She 
dreamt a great deal ; in her dreams, Sir 
Justin, and dance music, and the rubies, and 
burglars were incongruously mingled. To 
make up for it, she slept late next morning ; 
and Lady Maclure let her sleep on, thinking 
she was probably wearied out with much 
dancing the previous evening — as though 
any amount of excitement could ever weary 
a pretty American ! About ten o'clock she 
woke with a start. A vague feeling oppressed 
her that somebody had come in during the 
night and stolen her rubies. She rose hastily 
and went to her dressing-table to look for 
them. The case was there all right ; she 
opened it and looked at it Oh, prophetic soul ! 
the rubies were gone, and the box was empty ! 

Now, Persis had honestly said the night 
before the burglar might take her rubies if 
he chose, and she wouldn't mind the loss of 
them. But that was last night, and the 
rubies hadn't then as yet been taken. This 
morning, somehow, things seemed quite 
different It would be rough on us all 
(especially on politicians) if we must always 
be bound by what we said yesterday. Persis 
was an American, and no American is in- 
sensible to the charms of precious stones ; 
'tis a savage taste which the European immi- 
grants seem to have inherited obliquely 
from their Red Indian predecessors. She 
rushed over to the bell and rang it with 
feminine violence. Lady Maclure's maid 
answered the summons, as usual. She was 
a clever, demure-looking girl, this maid of 
Lady Maclure's ; and when Persis cried to 
her wildly, " Send for the police at once, 
and tell Sir Everard my jewels are stolen ! " 
she answered " Yes, miss," with such sober 
acquiescence that Persis, who was American, 
and therefore a bundle of nerves, turned 
round and stared at her as an incompre- 
hensible mystery. No Mahatma could have 
been more unmoved. She seemed quite to 
expect those rubies would be stolen, and to 
take no more notice of the incident than if 
Persis had told her she wanted hot water. 

Lady Maclure, indeed, greatly prided her- 
self on this cultivated imperturbability of 
Bertha's ; she regarded it as the fine flower 
of English domestic service. But Persis was 
American, and saw things otherwise ; to her, 
the calm repose with which Bertha answered, 
" Yes, miss ; certainly, miss ; I'll go and tell 
Sir Everard," seemed nothing short of 

exasperat ' n fTY OF MICHIGAN 



Bertha went off with the news, closing the 
door quite softly ; and a few minutes later 
lady Maclure herself appeared in the 
California's room, to console her visitor 
under this severe domestic affliction. She 
found Persis sitting up in bed, in her pretty 
French dressing jacket (pale blue with revets 
of fawn colour), reading a book of verses, 
11 Why, my dear ! " Lady Maclure exclaimed, 
" then you've found them again, I suppose ? 
Bertha told us you'd lost your lovely rubies ! " 

" So I have, dear Lady Maclure/ 1 Persis 
answered, wiping her eyes ; " they're gone. 
They've been 
stolen. I forgot 
to lock my door 
when I came 
home last night, 
and the window 
was open ; some- 
body must have 
come in, this 
way or that, and 
taken them. 
But whenever 
I'm in trouble, 
I try a dose of 
Browning. He's 
splendid for the 
nerves. He's so 
consoling, you 
know; he brings 
one to anchor." 

She break- 
fasted in bed ; 
she wouldn't 
leave the room, 
she declared, 
till the police 
arrived. After 
breakfast she 
rose and put 
on her dainty 
Parisian morn- 


i n g w r a p — 

Americans have always such pretty bedroom 
things for these informal receptions — and sat 
up in state to await the police officer* Sir 
Everard himself, much disturbed that such a 
mishap should have happened in his house, 
went round in person to fetch the official 
While he was gone, Ijady Maclure made a 
thorough search of the room, but couldn't find 
a trace of the missing rubies, 

" Are you sure you put them in the ease, 
dear?" she asked, for the honour of the 

Aiii! Persis answered : " Quite confidpi^ 
Lady Maclure ; I always put them there the 

moment I take them off; and when I came 
to look for them this morning, the case was 

" They were very valuable, I believe ? n 
Lady MacluTe said, inquiringly. 

li Six thousand pounds was the figure in 
your money, I guess," Persis answered, rue- 
fully. " I don't know if you call that a lot 
of money in England, but we do in America." 
There was a moment's pause, and then 
Persis spoke again : — 

" Lady Maclure," she said, abruptly, "do 
you consider that maid of yours a Christian 

woman ? " 

Lady Maclure 
was startled. 
That was hardly 
the light in 
which she was 
accustomed to 
regard the lower 

" Well, I don't 
k n o w about 
that," she said, 
slowly ; " that's 
a great deal, you 
know, dear, to 
assert about any- 
body\ especially 
one's maid. But 
I should think 
she was honest, 
quite decidedly 

"Well, that's 
the same thing, 
about, isn't it ? " 
Persis answered, 
much relieved. 
"I'm glad you 
think that's so ; 
for I was almost 
half afraid of 
her. She's too 
quiet for my taste, somehow j so silent, you 
know, and inscrutable." 

"Oh, my dear," her hostess cried, "don't 
blame her for silence ; that's just what I like 
about hen It's exactly what I chose her for. 
Such a nice, noiseless girl ; moves about the 
room like a cat on tiptoe ; knows her proper 
place, and never dreams of speaking unless 
she's spoken to." 

u Well, you may like them that way in 

Europe/* Persis responded, frankly; "but in 

America, we prefer them a little bit human." 

Twenty minutes later the police officer 

arrived. He wasn't in uniform. The inspector. 




feeling at once the gravity of the case, and 
recognising that this was a Big Thing, in 
which there was glory to be won, and perhaps 
promotion, sent a detective at once, and 
advised that if possible nothing should be said 
to the household on the subject for the pre- 
sent, till the detective had taken a good look 
round the premises. That was useless, Sir 
Everard feared, for the lady's-maid knew; 
and the lady's-maid would be sure to go 
down, all agog with the news, to the servants' 
hall immediately. However, they might try ; 
no harm in trying ; and the sooner the 
detective got round to the house, of course, 
the better. 

The detective accompanied him back — a 
keen - faced, close - shaven, irreproachable- 
looking man, like a vulgarized copy of Mr. 
John Morley. He was curt and business- 
like. His first question was, " Have the 
servants been told of this ? " 

Lady Maclure looked inquiringly across at 
Bertha. She herself had been sitting all the 
time with the bereaved Persis, to console her 
(with Browning) under this heavy affliction. 

" No, my lady," Bertha answered, ever 
calm (invaluable servant, Bertha !), " I didn't 
mention it to anybody downstairs on purpose, 
thinking perhaps it might be decided to 
search the servants' boxes." 

The detective pricked up his ears. He 
was engaged already in glancing casually 
round the room. He moved about it now, 
like a conjurer, with quiet steps and slow. 
" He doesn't get on one's nerves," Persis 
remarked, approvingly, in an undertone to her 
friend ; then she added, aloud : " What's your 
name, please, Mr. Officer ? " 

The detective was lifting a lace handker- 
chief on the dressing-table at the side. He 
turned round softly. " Gregory, madam," 
he answered, hardly glancing at the girl, and 
going on with his occupation. 

" The same as the powders ! " Persis inter- 
posed, with a shudder. "I used to take 
them when I was a child. I never could 
bear them." 

" We're useful, as remedies," the detective 
replied, with a quiet smile ; " but nobody 
likes us." And he relapsed contentedly into 
his work once more, searching round the 

u The first thing we have to do," he said, 
with a calm air of superiority, standing now 
by the window, with one hand in his pocket, 
" is to satisfy ourselves whether or not there 
has really, at all, been a robbery. We must 
look through the room well, and see you 
haven't left tho rubies lying about loose 

somewhere. Such things often happen. 
We're constantly called in to investigate a 
case, when it's only a matter of a lady's care- 

At that Persis flared up. A daughter of 
the great republic isn't accustomed to be 
doubted like a mere European woman. " I'm 
quite sure I took them off," she said, "and 
put them back in the jewel case. Of that 
I'm just confident There isn't a doubt 

Mr. Gregory redoubled his search in all 
likely and unlikely places. " I should say 
that settles the matter," he answered, blandly. 
" Our experience is that whenever a lady's per- 
fectly certain, beyond the possibility of doubt, 
she put a thing away safely, it's absolutely sure 
to turn up where she says she didn't put it." 

Persis answered him never a word. Her 
runners had not that repose that stamps the 
caste of Vere de Vere ; so, to prevent an 
outbreak, she took refuge in Browning. 

Mr. Gregory, nothing abashed, searched 
the room thoroughly, up and down, without 
the faintest regard to Persis's feelings ; he was 
a detective, he said, and his business was first 
of ail to unmask crime, irrespective of circum- 
stances, lady Maclure stood by, meanwhile, 
with the imperturbable Bertha. Mr. Gregory 
investigated every hole and cranny, like a man 
who wishes to let the world see for itself he 
performs a disagreeable duty with unflinching 
thoroughness. When he had finished, he 
turned to Lady Maclure. " And now, if you 
please," he said, blandly, " we'll proceed to 
investigate the servants' boxes." 

Lady Maclure looked at her maid. 
" Bertha," she said, a go downstairs, and see 
that none of the other servants come up, 
meanwhile, to their bedrooms." Lady Mac- 
lure was not quite to the manner born, and 
had never acquired the hateful aristocratic 
habit of calling women servants by their sur- 
names only. 

But the detective interposed. " No, no," 
he said, sharply. "This young woman had 
better stop here with Miss Remanet — strictly 
under her eye — till I've searched the boxes. 
For if I find nothing there, it may perhaps 
be my disagreeable duty, by-and-by, to call 
in a female detective to search her." 

It was lady Maclure's turn to flare up 
now. " Why, this is my own maid," she 
said, in a chilly tone, "and I've every con- 
fidence in her." 

" Very sorry for that, my lady," Mr. 
Gregory responded, in a most official voice ; 
" but our experience teaches us that if there's 
a j^iJ-faibR an Ytfitf A&se wiicm nobody ever 




dreams of suspecting, that person's the one 
who has committed the robbery." 

" Why, you'll be suspecting myself next ! " 
Lady Maclure cried, with some disgust. 

"Your ladyship's just the last person in 
the world I should think of suspecting/' the 
detective answered, with a deferential bow — 
which, after his previous speech, was to say 
the least of it equivocal 

Per sis began to get annoyed. She didn't 
half like the look of that girl Bertha, herself ; 
but still 7 she was there .as Lady Maclure's 
guest, and she couldn't expose her hostess to 
discomfort on her account. 

" The girl shall not be searched, 1 ' she put 
in, growing hot, "I don't care a cent 
whether I lose the wretched stones or 
not Compared to human dignity, what 
are they worth ? Not five minutes' con- 

u They're worth just seven years," Mr. 
Gregory answered, with professional definite- 
ness. ** And as to searching, why, that's out 
of your hands now, This is a criminal case. 
I'm here to discharge a public duty," 

"I don't in the least mind being searched/' 
Bertha put in obligingly, with an air of 

indifference, "You can search 
me if you like — when you've got 
a warrant for it." 

The detective looked up 
sharply ; so also did Persis. This 
ready acquaintance with the 
liberty of the subject in criminal 
cases impressed her unfavour- 
ably. " Ah ! we'll see about 
that/' Mr. Gregory answered, 
with a cool smile. 4 * Meanwhile, 
Lady Maclure, HI have a look 
at the boxes." 


The search (strictly illegal) 
brought out nothing, Mr. Gre- 
gory returned to Persis's bed- 
room, disconsolate. u You can 
leave the room," he said to 
Bertha; and Bertha glided out 
w IVe set another man outside to 
keep a constant eye on her," he 
added in explanation. 

Bv this time Persis had almost 


made her mind up as to who was 
the culprit ; but she said nothing 
overt, for Lady Maclure's sake* 
to the detective. As for that 
immovable official, he began 
asking questions — some of them, 
Persis thought, almost bordering 
on the personal. Where had she been last 
night ? Was she sure she had really worn 
the mhies ? How did she come home ? Was 
she certain she took them off? Did the maid 
help her undress? Who came back with 
her in the carriage ? 

To all these questions, rapidly fired off with 
crossnexamining acuteness, Persis answered 
ip the direct American fashion, Slie was 
sure she had the rubies on when she came 
home to Hampstead, because Sir Justin 
O'Byrne, who came back with her in his 
sister's carriage, had noticed them the last 
thing, and had told her to take care of them. 
At mention of that name the detective 
smiled meaningly. (A meaning smile is 
stock-in-trade to a detective.) li Oh, Sir 
Justin O' Byrne ! " he repeated, with quiet 
self-constraint u He came back with you in 
the carriage, then ? And did he sit the same 
side with you ? " 

Lady Maclure grew indignant (that was 
Mr. Gregory's cue). M Really, sir," she said, 
angrily, *' if youYe going to suspect gentle- 
men in Sir Justin's position, we shall none of 
us be safe from'yRj^nal from 
, 'The L ^^f^EffiKnTsSi 1 tf» with an 



air of profound deference, " is no respecter 
of persons." 

" But it ought to be of characters, " Lady 
Maclure cried, warmly. " What's the good 
of having a blameless character, I should 
like to know, if— if " 

" If it doesn't allow you to commit a rob- 
bery with impunity ? " the detective inter- 
posed, finishing her sentence his own way. 
"Well, well, that's true. That's per-fectly 
true — but Sir Justin's character, you see, can 
hardly be called blameless." 

" He's a gentleman," Persis cried, with 
flashing eyes, turning round upon the officer ; 
" and he's quite incapable of such a mean and 
despicable crime asyoujdare to suspect him of." 

" Oh, I see," the officer answered, like one 
to whom a welcome ray of light breaks 
suddenly through a great darkness. " Sir 
Justin's a friend of yours ! Did he come 
into the porch with you ? " 

"He did," Persis answered, flushing crim- 
son ; " and if you have the insolence to 
bring a charge against him " 

" Calm yourself, madam," the detective 
replied, coolly. " I do nothing of the sort — 
at this stage of the proceedings. It's possible 
there may have been no robbery in the case 
at all. We must keep our minds open for 
the present to every possible alternative. 
It's — it's a delicate matter to hint at; but 
before we go any further — do you think, 
perhaps, Sir Justin may have carried the 
rubies away by mistake, entangled in his 
clothes? — say, for example, his coat-sleeve?" 

It was a loophole of escape ; but Persis 
didn't jump at it 

" He had never the opportunity," she 
answered, with a flash. " And I know quite 
well they were there on my neck when he 
left me, for the last thing he said to me was, 
looking up at this very window : ' That 
balcony's awfully convenient for a burglary. 
Mind you take good care of the Remanet 
rubies.' And I remembered what he'd said 
when I took them off last night ; and that's 
what makes me so sure I really had them." 

" And you slept with the window open !" 
the detective went on, still smiling to himself. 
" Well, here we have all the materials, to be 
sure, for a first-class mystery !" 


For some days more, nothing further turned 
up of importance about the Great Ruby 
Robbery. It got into the papers, of course, 
as everything does nowadays, and all London 
v/as talking of it. Persis found herself quite 
famous as the American lady who had lost 

her jewels. People pointed her out in the 
park; people stared at her hard through 
their opera-glasses at the theatre. Indeed, 
the possession of the celebrated Remanet 
rubies had never made her half so con- 
spicuous in the world as the loss of them 
made her. It was almost worth while losing 
them, Persis thought, to be so much made 
of as she was in society in consequence. 
All the world knows a young lady must be 
somebody when she can offer a reward of 
five hundred pounds for the recovery of gew- 
gaws valued at six thousand. 

Sir Justin met her in the Row one day. 
" Then you don't go to Paris for awhile yet — 
until you get them back ? " he inquired very 

And Persis answered, blushing, " No, Sir 
Justin ; not yet ; and — I'm almost glad of it." 

" No, you don't mean that ! " the young 
man cried, with perfect boyish ardour. 
"Well, I confess, Miss Remanet, the first 
thing I thought myself when I read it in The 
Times was just the very same : * Then, after 
all, she won't go yet to Paris !'" 

Persis looked up at him from her pony 
with American frankness. "And I," she, 
said, quivering, " I found anchor in Browning. 
For what do you think I read ? 

* And learn to rate a true man's heart 
Far above rubies.' 

The book opened at the very place ; and 
there I found anchor ! " 

But when Sir Justin went round to his 
rooms that same evening his servant said to 
him, "A gentleman was inquiring for you 
here this afternoon, sir. A close-shaven 
gentleman. Not very prepossessing And it 
seemed to me somehow, sir, as if he was 
trying to pump me." 

Sir Justin's face was grave. He went to 
his bedroom at once. He knew what that 
man wanted ; and he turned straight to his 
wardrobe, looking hard at the dress coat he 
had worn on the eventful evening. Things 
may cling to a sleeve, don't you know — or be 
entangled in a cuff — or get casually into a 
pocket ! Or someone may put them there. 

For the next ten days or so Mr. Gregory was 
busy, constantly busy. Without doubt, he was 
the most active and energetic of detectives. He 
carried out so fully his own official principle 
of suspecting everybody, from China to Peru, 
that at last poor Persis got fairly mazed with 
his web of possibilities. Nobody was safe 
from his callhaUicl and highly-trained sus- 
picion-net Sir Everard in his studio, nor 



Lady Maclure in her boudoir, nor the butler 
in his pantry, nor Sir Justin O'Byme in his 
rooms in St. James ! s. Mr, Gregory kept an 
open mind against everybody and everything. 
He even doubted the parrot, and had views 
as to the intervention of rats and terriers, 
Persis got rather tired at last of his perverse 
ingenuity ; especially as she had a very 
shrewd idea herself who had stolen the 
rubies. When he suggested various doubts, 
however, which seemed remotely to implicate 
Sir Justin's honesty, the sensitive American 
girl "felt it go on her nerves," and refused to 
listen to him, though Mr, Gregory never 
ceased to enforce upon her, by precept and 
example, his own pet doctrine that the last 
person on earth one would be likely to sus- 
pect is always the one who turns out to have 
done it. 

A morning or two later, Persis looked out 
of her window as she was dressing her hair. 
She dressed it herself now, though she was 
an American heiress, and, therefore, of 


course, the kziest 
of her kind; for 
she had taken an 
unaccountable dis- 
like, somehow, to 
that quiet girl 
Bertha. On this 
particular morning, 
however, when 
Persis looked out, 
she saw Bertha en- 
gaged in close, and 
apparently very 
intimate, conversa- 
tion with the Hamp- 
stead postman. 
This sight disturbed 
the unstable equi- 
librium of her equa- 
nimity not a little. 
Why should Bertha 
go to the door to 
the postman at all ? 
Surely it was no part 
of the duty of Lady 
Maclure 's maid to 
take in the letters ! 
And why should 
she want to go pry- 
ing into the question 
of who wrote to 
Miss Remanet ? 
For ^Persis, in- 
tensely conscious 
herself that a 
note^rbm Sir Justin 
lay on top of the postman's bundle — she 
recognised it at once, even at that dis- 
tance below, by the peculiar shape of the 
broad rough envelope — jumped to the natural 
feminine conclusion that Bertha must needs 
he influenced by some abstruse motive of 
which she herself, Persis, was, to say the 
very least, a component element. Til a 
human fallacy. We're all of us prone to 
see everything from a personal standpoint ; 
indeed, the one quality which makes a rnan 
or woman into a possible novelist, good, bad, 
or indifferent, is just that special power of 
throwing himself or herself into a great 
many people's personalities alternately. And 
this is a power possessed on an average by 
not one in a thousand men or not one in ten 
thousand women. 

Persis rang the bell violently. Bertha came 
up, all smiles : " Did you want anything, 
miss?" Persis could have choked her. 
" Yes, JS she answered, plainly, taking the bull 

b y l H\tmWomm^ w what > tou 



were doing down there, prying into other 
people's letters with the postman ? " 

Bertha looked up at her, ever bland ; she 
answered at once, without a second's hesi- 
tation : "The postman's my young man, miss; 
and we hope before very long now to get 

" Odious thing !" Persis thought. " A glib 
lie always ready on the tip of her tongue for 
every emergency." 

But Bertha's full heart was beating violently. 
Beating with love and hope and deferred 

A little later in the day Persis mentioned 
the incident casually to Lady Maclure — 
mainly in order to satisfy herself that the girl 
had been lying. Lady Maclure, however, gave 
a qualified assent : — 

" I believe she's engaged to the postman," 
she said. " I think I've heard so ; though I 
make it a rule, you see, my dear, to know as 
little as I can of these people's love affairs. 
They're so very uninteresting. But Bertha 
certainly told me she wouldn't leave me to 
get married for an indefinite period. That 
was only ten days ago. She said her young 
man wasn't just yet in a position to make a 
home for her." 

" Perhaps," Persis suggested, grimly, 
"something has occurred meanwhile to 
better her position. Such strange things 
crop up. She may have come into a 
fortune ! " 

"Perhaps so," Lady Maclure replied, lan- 
guidly. The subject bored her. " Though, 
if so, it must really have been very sudden ; 
for I think it was the morning before you 
lost your jewels she told me so." 

Persis thought that odd, but she made no 

Before dinner that evening she burst 
suddenly into Lady Maclure's room for a 
minute. Bertha was dressing her lady's hair. 
Friends were coming to dine — among them 
Sir Justin. " How do these pearls go with 
my complexion, Lady Maclure ?" P